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Scott had lived many lives. Each was different from the last, and each seemed to drag him kicking and screaming towards a fate he desperately wanted to avoid. He tried again and again to change the futures planned for him, but his efforts only managed to prolong the journey towards his inevitable end.
He wasn’t sure what mistake he had made in his past to deserve the fate he was granted. Maybe he had insulted a deity somewhere along the line, and this was his divine punishment. Or maybe somehow had cursed him long ago due to a minor slight, just to make sure he suffered for as long as possible.
But even then, he kept going, for giving up was just an abrupt ending to a chapter in a book which had an infinite number of pages.
1. Empires SMP
Scott’s skin burned. Despite the snow steadily covering his limp firm, he had never felt such searing hot pain. The Rune Blade dug deep into his chest seemed to pulse with his slowing heart beats, the magic radiating from the metal a blistering heat jolting through his veins. Blood, so bright against the pale snow, crafted patterns of color around him.
The towering structures of corruption creaked and crumbled around him, flames burning low until they were snuffed out. The spire nearest to him cracked in half, the dark material crashing on itself, heavy dust joining the snow and blood.
The crown of golden antlers he had been wearing had fallen to the wayside, abandoned during the fight that concluded with Scott’s current fate. Scott couldn’t help but feel that Aeor had disgraced him, the bitterness of betrayal thick on his tongue. Did he not deserve a happy ending? What about his people? Did they not deserve a worthy ruler?
A few feet away lay the still body of Xornoth, someone Scott once called his brother. The man still appeared corrupted, the black stag horns mounted on top of his head, but he was bleeding red just like any other mortal. Xornoth was not a god, Scott bitterly surmised; and after all these years, they were still brothers.
He was supposed to be happy. The Rune Blade was designed to grant him an afterlife he yearned for; a world where he and his brother ruled side by side, a world where corruption didn’t exist, a world where peace was the very foundation of Rivendell. Instead, he was slowly bleeding to death, the Rune Blade buried in his chest, no glimpses of afterlife to meet him.
Scott coughed, blood spilling from his lips to paint more color onto the snow by his head. The entrapment structure Xornoth had built was still falling apart around him. Soon enough, Scott was sure he would be buried under pounds of snow and dust and ash until he was more likely to suffocate than bleed out. But it didn’t matter, not when his promised happiness was nowhere in sight.
His kingdom was still burning. His people were still terrified. Had he done nothing but ensure the death of his empire? Was anyone coming to help his subjects? Had they been doomed by his own selfishness for happiness? He could faintly hear screams past the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t quite pinpoint if they were from his citizens or from himself.
Scott wondered if his fellow rulers were worried about him. In the wake of the final battle, his attention on alliances had dwindled. Were those moments of vulnerability enough to sever the ties he had to people he might’ve considered friends had he gotten to know them better? …Were they even alive?
His strength waning, Scott slowly shifted until he could lift his arms in front of him. The move jostled the Rune Blade in his chest, but the shock of pain was simply an undercurrent of the anguish he was drowning in. One arm in front of the other, he slowly but surely crawled across the ground, blood smearing across the snow and corrupted grass.
When his arms finally gave out, he had made it close enough to plant himself against the arch of Xornoth’s body. He was cold and still, but Scott cuddled into his brother’s embrace as the pain slowly consumed him. With a pathetic sob, Scott pushed himself ever so slightly closer until he could tuck his head under Xornoth’s chin.
The handle of the Rune Blade pressed against Xornoth’s stomach, the blade itself pushing further into Scott’s chest, ripping a new cry from his lips. Everything was blurry from tears, the ringing in his ears was deafening, and he was in so much pain.
“I’m so sorry,” Scott whispered, voice cracking in the words as he struggled to speak through the blood pooling in his mouth. Xornoth didn’t answer him, not that Scott was expecting it. Instead, his brother lay silent, harmless in death. Another cry tore its way from Scott’s throat, and he buried his face in Xornoth’s shoulder to muffle the sound.
This was the end, huh?
After everything, this was the future he was privy to.
Scott lifted his arm, shakily moving it to wrap around Xornoth’s shoulder in the pitiful mimicry of a hug.
He was so tired. He missed his brother. He missed the way they played when they were younger. He missed their squabbles. He missed the bedtime stories and the promises of the future that never came to be.
Part of him resented the gods that looked down on them. Maybe, in another world, they were not the subjects of prophecy. Maybe, in another world, they could be happy and carefree. Maybe, in another world, all those forgotten promises could come true.
He just wanted to let go. He just wanted to rest.
His next breath in was cut short, the blood in his mouth now invading his lungs until air became an unearned luxury. Part of him wanted to fight, to kick and scream and beg until whatever gods were watching him took pity on him and pulled him from the brink of death. Another was tired, so very tired.
He didn’t want to suffer anymore.
As he closed his eyes, snow falling around him, Scott could almost imagine Xornoth’s arms holding him close as he drifted into nothingness.
2. Last Life
Scott is carefully wrapping his left wrist with clean bandages as the sun begins to set when he starts to hear the voices. They’re subtle, almost nonexistent, and he certainly would’ve missed them if he and the other three remaining fighters had stayed together in preparation for the final battle. He’s alone though, and he can make out the whispers like they’re speaking to him directly.
Not worthy, one hisses, words laced with bitter hatred.
Cheater, another snaps.
Mocks us, a third growls.
Scott simply swallows down his nervousness and completes the wrap around his wrist. He’s not quite sure what he should be preparing himself for. He’s tried to be kind, be honorable. He didn’t want to kill, but that was the game thst had been laid out for them, for him.
Beside him on the rock he’s sitting on, his communicator buzzes.
Show time.
He haphazardly shoved his communicator into his back pocket, yanked his sword from his back, and hooked a couple potions of harming onto his belt. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was prepared to fight to his death. He refuses to go down a coward.
Scott had only been walking for a short while when he heard a scream in the distance. Pearl. A wave of despair overwhelmed him knowing that his closest friend, his primary ally, was most likely dead. A buzz from his communicator confirmed his fear, and Scott had to pause in his walking to shut his eyes and bite back the tears that threatened to fall.
He needed to keep going. He and Pearl had separated for a reason. He knew that if it had come down to it, if he and Pearl had been the final two, she wouldn’t have granted him any mercy. They were both caught in this game, and they both wanted to escape it. Alliances ceased to matter when freedom was only inched from your grasp.
Unworthy! A voice snarled.
He continued walking. He had a goal, he needed to survive. Maybe then…
Maybe then, he could escape the cruel cycle he had been thrown into.
Maybe then, he would finally be able to experience the afterlife he had wished for so many years ago, his brother growling in front of him as the entrapment spell took over.
Maybe then…
A low curse sounded to his right, and Scott turned on his heel, ducking behind a tree. He watched as a shock of blond hair slipped down into a small hole, various monsters converging on the man struggling in the dirt.
Martyn, Scott recognized.
This was his chance.
Stepping forward quickly and quietly, Scott let one of his potions fall into his palm. A few steps closer and his foot snagged on a few leaves, a quiet crunch echoing in the air.
The small sound was enough to alert Martyn, and the man jerked his head up from where he was fending off a zombie, his eyes wide and scared.
“Shit,” Martyn snapped, and Scott hastily backed away when a flash of Martyn’s hand extended a deadly End Crystal between the two. Without another shred of hesitance, Scott tossed the position of harming into the hole with Martyn, flinching when the man yelled in shock as the potion took effect.
Simultaneously, Martyn shot his hand out on reflex, searching for an assailant that he could not reach. Instead, his finger tips brushed over the placed End Crystal.
A moment of silence where the world seemed to pause before the Crystal ignited, the sound of shattering glass ricocheting across the space, followed by a cry of pain before the explosion dissipated.
The monsters surrounding the hole had been killed by the ensuing explosion, but Martyn had been as well. Scott’s communicator buzzed, confirming the second death of the evening.
A sharp pain hit Scott’s shoulder, the man hissing as he turned just quick enough to dodge the next barrow sent his way. Deep in the trees, Scott could just barely make out the whip of a brown tail as his attacker ducked behind the foliage.
Ren. He was the last one.
Give up, one of the voices said, almost pleadingly.
Cheater! Another yelped.
Quickly swapping out his sword, Scott pulled his bow from his back, notching an arrow to shot back towards the tree Ren had ducked behind. The other man gasped in surprise when the arrow found his arm as he tried to maneuver to another tree.
While Ren was distracted, Scott pulled another potion from his belt, throwing it to where the man was still pulling through arrow from his flesh. He wasn’t sure if his aim was accurate considering Ren didn’t make a sound, but he didn’t want to find out. With his moment of safety, Scott sprinted to a rock outcropping on Ren’s other side.
“Why are you attacking me?” Ren shouted, something like betrayal in his voice. Scott didn’t quite understand. They were the only two left. He had to attack him.
Even still, Scott replied in a cry, “I have to, you killed Pearl!”
Ren ran out from behind a tree, leaping up onto the stone outcropping Scott was hidden behind, his sword unsheathed. Scott instinctively shot another arrow towards the man, grinning when Ren grunted as the arrow connected.
Scott had just notched a third arrow when Ren shouted out. Lowering his bow ever so slightly, Scott watched as a zombie crawled from the top of the outcropping, landing on top of Ren with a loud groan.
The zombie snarled and sunk its rotten teeth into Ren’s shoulder, tearing through flesh and muscle until it exposed the bone of the man’s arm. Ren screamed, moving to try to dislodge the zombie, but he only put his head in the things path. The zombie growled, wrenched its head from Ren’s shoulder, and crushed the man’s skull between its teeth.
The sound was nauseating. Scott turned away, bile rising in his throat as Ren’s screams went silent.
Suddenly, the air seemed charged, electric in its silence. With his wavering adrenaline, Scott climbed up the side of the outcropping until he could stand over the zombie feasting on the dead man beneath it. With blood pouring from the arrow wound in his shoulder, Scott raised his sword to the sky.
“I did it!” He shouted, caught somewhere between relief and anger. “This is what you wanted, right?”
The whispering had ceased, and he was left in uneasy quiet.
“I did what you asked,” he pleaded, dropping his sword and falling to his knees, “they’re all dead!”
Scott collapsed in on himself, his hands raising to grip at his sweaty hair. “Please,” he murmured, “please just let me die.”
Faint laughter sounded, growing in volume until it was cacophonous. Scott slammed his hands over his ears, but the laughter continued.
Unworthy, the voices said, layering over each other until Scott could no longer hear the nature around him.
With a harsh sob, Scott opened his mouth and screamed—
Lightning struck around him, and his vision cut to nothingness.
3. Double Life
She doesn’t remember him. She doesn’t remember him at all. That’s all Scott can think about as he stands across from Pearl, his soulmate, the woman who had once stood by his side in a death game years in the past until the very end.
And now, they’re back right where they started.
Pearl looks so similar to how she did so long ago. Her hair is still the same color, the same length. Her eyes shine red now, but they still hold that same comforting warmth. This game has hardened her, it has beaten her down and stolen away her hope until all that remained is a warrior. But it’s still Pearl.
He’s bloody and heaving, but Pearl is no better off. The bodies of their fallen enemies are forgotten as they stand off against one another. There is a choice here, and Scott knows it. He could rush her, he could kick and scream until his lungs cave in. And deep down, he knows he would win.
But…
He doesn’t want to fight anymore.
Still though, he is curious.
“Do you remember, Pearl?” He asks, voice quiet and pained.
Pearl blinks in response, confusion clear on her features. “Remember what?” She questions, matching his soft tone.
Scott can’t help the tears that spring to his eyes. Of course. Of course she wouldn’t remember. If Ren couldn’t remember, even when the last Scott had seen him, the man had been screaming in pain, then how would she.
Cleo, while a welcome friend in this twisted game, didn’t remember either. There was also a brief moment of weakness where he desperately sought out Grian, convinced that his past win may have granted him the memory the others seemed to lack. He only received confused stares in return.
No one remembered. No one but him. And instead of embracing his soulmate, he aggressively pushed her away.
He reacted harshly when her saw her again, and Scott finds that he regrets it immensely. The emotion that erupted in him when the realization settled that they were connected was tinged with something bitter and sad. And he was so mean to her. But the knowledge that she had so carelessly risked her life before they were even face to face was enough to give him pause, enough to set his anger alight.
Now, it was just the two of them. There was no Ren or Martyn between them this time. There were no monsters clawing for their attention. There were no voices whispering in his ear.
Pearl had traded his denied companionship for wolves, he had found out. Even now, they crowded around her, watching him warily. He had no desire to kill their master, but he understood their hesitance. He and Pearl knew what had to happen. This world was not fair, and two winners were not allowed.
“Scott—“ Pearl began.
Scott shook his head, breathing in deeply to choke back the feelings that threatened to overflow. Another moment of silence and Scott lifted his head again to look at his soulmate.
And he smiled.
Pearl looked surprised, but her features softened, her lips twitching up in a smile of her own. “Hi, Scott,” she said quietly, the sun beginning to set behind her.
The sunset made her look beautiful. Her red eyes gleamed in the low lighting, and the dimming rays caught her hair and turned it golden. One of her wolves moved closer to rub against her calf.
She didn’t deserve any of this heartbreak.
“I didn’t think it would end this way,” Scott responded, sighing the words.
Pearl chuckled in response, tilting her head until her hair fell into her eyes. When she straightened, she reached up to pull down her hood. The sunset looked like a picture frame behind her silhouette.
“I honestly didn’t have a lot of faith in us,” she admitted, mischief alight in her gaze.
Scott couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t either. But that wasn’t because of her. He had failed her since the beginning. She didn’t deserve that from him. She didn’t deserve any of this.
“I think, Pearl…” He began, a deep sadness bubbling up in his chest, “you deserve this more.”
Pearl scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. The sun had finally fallen o er the horizon. She still look gorgeous in the moonlight.
“Excuse me?” She questioned, blinking up at him, “what do you mean?”
Scott simply smiled and held his hand out, a small bundle of TNT lying in his palm. Pearl’s eyes widened, and she took a hesitant step forward.
“In the same way,” he continued, “Tilly death do us part, Pearl.”
Pearl stepped forward again, halting in place when Scott frantically took a step backwards. With a fast flick of a flint and steel, the fuse lit up in his hand.
“Wait, Scott, what are you doing?” Pearl shouted, fear clear in her expression, her arm held out in front of her like she was reaching for him.
The voices were back, cackling in his ear. They were mocking and cruel, his despair nothing but entertainment, a chess piece in their wretched games.
He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He refused to bend to their will. His death would be his own, not theirs. And Pearl would get to live. She would get to thrive. Maybe he could finally give to her the happiness she deserved.
A single tear ran down Scott’s cheek. Maybe…he would finally get to rest. He clutched the TNT close to his chest, “Tilly death do us part.”
The fuse hit the sticks of the explosive, and Scott took a deep breath in. He wasn’t scared of the pain. He was scared of what came after.
“Scott, what are you doing?!” Pearl screamed, finally convincing her body to run. Her dogs followed her, growling and snarling at some unseen enemy that they couldn’t fight for her.
“Scott!”
A bright flash, searing heat.
The final look of tears running down Pearl’s cheeks.
The color red suited her.
Then nothingness.
4. Witchcraft SMP
When Milo died, Scott wanted to follow him.
After everything he had been through, all the deaths and the conflicting memories, he thought he had finally found true happiness he had been craving for so long. His days were spent in bliss; dancing in his kitchen in the early hours of the morning, sharing sweet kisses under the light of the moon, splashing in puddles like children as the sky poured. Milo was his everything.
But then Milo was gone, and Scott was alone again.
Determined beyond belief, Scott dove into things he should have never discovered. Spell books and intricate rituals, blood magic and demon summoning; a wealth of forbidden knowledge at his fingertips. He was already trapped. He had died so many times, he could no longer remember them all. He had earned the right to cheat death. He had earned the right to bend reality to his will.
As he steadily grew stronger, Scott knew this life would not be his last. He’d reached too far beyond the veil, whatever deities watching him would refuse to allow him peace after a wretched life such as this. But if he was doomed to succumb to despair and repeat the cycle, he at least wanted his final moments to be happy.
The letter, while a surprise, was not entirely unexpected. He could never enjoy a life with the comfort of his own thoughts and his own decisions. There would always be something out there that called to him, something that tore him away from all he knew and threw him into the depths of uncertainty.
The competition was fierce, his fellow witches just a determined as he was. He wasn’t here for friendship, but he couldn’t stop himself from allowing companionship, especially with some familiar faces. Cleo was a welcome addition. Like usual, she didn’t recognize him, but it was still nice to see her again—alive and unbothered by the horrors of death and violence.
The afterlife called to him, sweet and bitter all at the same time, and Scott yearned for its embrace. However, he still had work to do. No matter how much his soul screamed for rest, he had come to this point with a purpose, and he refused to fail.
Falling to darkness was entirely too easy. The way curse magic flowed over his hands like water was entirely too enticing to throw away. Each slain demon filled him with a rush of tantalizing power. And when he finally ripped apart his soul for the illustrious sin of immortality, he had never felt more untouchable.
Scott knew it was temporary. No matter what, fate would not unhook its claws from him. Still, he basked in his newfound invulnerability. It was not his time to die; that moment would not come until he was truly ready.
In the end, not even Cleo could match him. He enveloped himself in the comforting touch of death, mastering the dark sensations until the world practically bowed before him. Purgatory clawed at him, desperate to drag him into the limbo that craved him.
He wasn’t done, and death could not touch him now.
The ritual was agonizing. He could feel each presence of his fellow competitors surrounding him, their energy drained until he was a well of power. No human being was meant to reach this point. Nature despised him, and death practically salivated as it patiently waited for its meal.
When the power left him, Scott knew it was only a matter of time before he was dragged under. He had cheated death for so long. His body was practically decaying on his bones, the flesh paper thin and fragile. Without his magic fueling his existence, he was a simple prey animal waiting for the jaws of the void to swallow him whole.
Pinpricks of pain crackled along his skin, a sensation he had somehow grown to miss after his power consumed his senses. It was only a matter of time until his magic devoured him.
But it had worked.
Milo was alive, and he was just as beautiful as Scott remembered. He was breathing and present and amazing.
Scott smiled at him, and he didn’t fight as his knees buckled and his body fell to the ground. He had succeeded, and now he was ready.
Death’s claws wrapped around his ankles, and Scott could feel the cold shadows eating away at his limbs. His heart beat slowed, blood leaving his limbs until his fingers were pale as snow. It was only a matter of time.
Milo was crying, his eyes red-rimmed, voice cracking as he begged for Scott to hold on. Vaguely, Scott could see the shocked and devastated faces of his competitors. Cleo stood out the most, her magic twisting and snapping in the air like it was desperate to intervene.
Time was no match for death. Everything died in the end.
Shakily, Scott raised a hand to Milo’s cheek, cupping his skin and wiping away the flowing tears.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Scott murmured, throat scratchy, “you’re back.”
Milo choked on a sob, a watery smile on his lips before his features fell back into anguish.
With the last of his strength, Scott leaned up to brush their lips together, a final goodbye as his own domain finally claimed him.
Milo would be okay, Scott knew that for a fact.
He slumped back to the ground with a tired sigh, vision blurry as his own magic ate away at him.
It was only a matter of time.
“I love you,” Scott said, his breath leaving his lungs.
“I love you too,” Milo answered as the darkness rushed up to meet him.
Scott didn’t fight it. He greeted death like an old friend. They knew each other intimately, and Scott would never be afraid of the thing he once mastered. But death conquered all in the end, and Scott knew from the beginning that his power was only temporary.
Milo’s face—beautiful, perfect, his—faded from view, and death dragged him into nothingness.
5. Limited Life
“How much time do you have left, Impulse?” Martyn asked, twirling his sword in his hand. The coral on his skin glints a deep red, his crimson eyes matching the vibrant color.
Impulse looks down at his watch with a click of his tongue, “a little under an hour, you?”
“‘Bout thirty minutes,” Martyn responded, letting the tip of his sword fall to rest on the dirt, “Scott?”
“Same as Impulse,” Scott confirmed, stretching his arms above his head.
He was used to this by now. The killed without hesitation. He ran for his life like it actually mattered in the end of it all. He hoarded his allies close, and he savored his time like a last meal on death row.
“So we doing this?” Impulse asked, plucking the string of his bow.
Martyn looked towards Impulse then to Scott and back. “Seems the fairest choice, yeah?”
Martyn had been a surprise in this round of the game. Scott was prepared to be alone, companionship brought nothing but pain in the end. None of his friends would remember him, no matter how close they had become in their time together. There was no point in endearing himself to another person when they would become a stranger again in mere weeks.
However, Martyn was persistent and quite helpful when the time called for it. The man was fiercely protective, a trait that had followed his across the different games. It was nice to have that loyalty focused on him, especially when the man was so adept at survival.
The Coral Isles had also been quite shocking. The water supported a fascinating malady that affected both Scott and Martyn, albeit in different ways. Martyn emerged at the beginning of the end with coral growing from his skin and pufferfish spines buried in his hair while Scott had adapted a helpful set of gills, delicate fins, and quite a powerful dolphin-esque tail.
It was the most Scott had been affected by one of the games, a transformation that was a bit concerning but welcomed nonetheless.
And Martyn was a good teammate, which was a plus in and of itself.
Impulse cleared his throat. “Alright, so we’ll—“
A piercing jolt of pain shot through Scott’s stomach. Scott could hear his own skin tear, the blade of a sword shoved through his stomach until the tip of the blade sliced past his spine. Blood pooled into his throat.
Distantly, he felt the situation mirror his death with Xornoth in Rivendell, albeit at the hands of another person rather than himself. The sensation felt the same; the pain searingly hot and shocking.
Just as soon as the sword had run through him, it was pulled back. The pull of the blade ripped a gasp from Scott’s lips, the serrated sword edge catching on his flesh, bringing new rivers of blood to drip down his shirt to the ground below. He could vaguely hear a struggle somewhere to his left, but Scott was too focused on the fountain of red erupting from his stomach.
His hands were shaking, from shock or pain, Scott wasn’t sure. What happened? He blinked, searching for answers in the bloody stain spreading across his torn shirt.
Blinking away the tears in his eyes, Scott finally looked up.
Martyn.
Martyn had stabbed him.
The man stood with his bloodied sword, gesturing wildly like a mad man, a bucket of lava in his free hand. Impulse looked horrified, shouting something at the blond that Scott didn’t manage to quite make out.
Scott hissed a whine of pain, folding into himself as his blood continued to pour.
Martyn stopped in his tirade, turning to Scott with wild eyes. The man raised his sword again, and Scott could only brace himself for the next strike of the blade. The metal dug into his shoulder, burying itself deep in the exposed skin and hidden bone.
And god, did it hurt.
Not because of the sword itself, no. But from the betrayal.
Martyn had been with him since the beginning. They had died for each other, killed for each other, bled for each other, suffered for each other. And now, instead of playing out a fair and final battle, the man had turned on him with zero hesitation.
Was he a fool for not expecting this? Was he a fool for thinking that everyone would remain as kind as him, even when faced with certain death or lonely success?
Martyn yanked the sword back, and Scott fell to his knees. Impulse yelled something again and took off running.
Martyn neglected to follow him. Instead, he knelt down by Scott’s side, one hand running soothingly through his messy hair. Scott looked up at the man, into those feral red eyes, hurt on his features.
In return, Martyn simply smiled, teeth sharp and threatening.
“Martyn—“ Scott choked out, blood pouring from his mouth to stain his lips.
Martyn grinned wider, “no hard feelings, right?”
He raised the sword again, placed a chaste kiss on Scott’s forehead, and buried the blade in his throat.
Martyn reminded him of both Milo and Pearl in different ways. He was fierce and protective, just like Pearl, a force to be reckoned with in the terrifying game they faced. He was caring and loyal, just like Milo, a constant, calming presence at Scott’s side throughout the lowest lows. Maybe there could have been something more there, if they weren’t surrounded by death and violence every day, if they had just a little more time.
Maybe in another world, they would have had a chance to explore the different possibilities.
But Scott supposed the terror consumed everyone at some point, and any connection he had to Martyn snapped with the slice of a sword.
Sparks burst behind his eyelids, pain radiating down his spine. And Martyn simply watched as the light faded from his eyes and as the breath was caught in his lungs.
A tearing sensation and a movement of Martyn’s arm as the sword was yanked away. Scott collapsed onto his side, sputtering for air that would not come. Martyn stepped away from him, shouting out Impulse’s name, supposedly beginning to run after the fleeing man.
Well, Scott wondered, this is what he gets for trusting again.
He distantly heard Impulse’s pained scream, followed by Martyn’s manic laughter as his lungs screamed for air and his senses flooded with nothingness.
+1 - Secret Life
Scott stood in front of the statue with hesitation lining his features. A button stood before him, unassuming, just a stone contraption designed specifically for this little game of theirs.
For some reason, he was reminded of the cruel whispers that followed him through the games, of the harsh voices that mocked him as he desperately fought his way through the terror. Part of him wondered if he would ever be worthy like the voices had mentioned so long ago. How many times did he have to prove himself to finally be granted some semblance of peace?
In the distance, Scott could hear laughter.
They had no idea what was coming for them.
It hurt to see Martyn again. Those wisps of possibility burning into the bitter aftertaste of betrayal overwhelmed him as soon as they locked eyes. Martyn had introduced himself to Scott with a smile, and Scott could barely stammer out his own introduction before the emotions welling up inside him threatened to spill over.
In some ways, it was harder to see him than it was Pearl. But she still seemed to haunt him. Everywhere he looked, Pearl seemed to be there with the same smile and the same hair and the same eyes. And when he tries to turn away, Martyn stood with that same smile and the same hair and the same eyes.
Scott shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts in his head. They were strangers again this time around, the two held no memory of him. Martyn never betrayed him here, and Pearl never knew him at all. He was alone again, just like all the other times before.
With a sigh, Scott gently pressed the stone button down.
The energy of healing flooded him, the sweet sensation rushing through his limbs. He was back to square one, perfectly healthy and ripe for the picking of any blood-lusting enemy thst had yet to show themselves.
The exact rules of this game were unknown to him, just like they always were when he was thrown headfirst into his newest punishment. Eventually, he would understand, but he still despised the temporary blindness.
He stepped back from the button, letting his hand fall to his side. The talking and laughter was growing closer.
Was it wrong for Scott to be bitter? Was it wrong thst he felt some manner of disgust at the ignorance of his companions?
“Hey, Scott!” Jimmy called, Martyn hanging on his arm.
Scott simply smiled in return. He wasn’t sure his voice would work with him, not when Martyn was standing there looking exactly the way he did at the beginning of the last game, before the Corel Isles had taken over him.
He waved at the two, sending an identical greeting to Lizzie and Joel as they rounded from the back of the statue.
He needed to get out of here. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Dismissing himself, Scott began the trek back to his house in the small cherry blossom forest. It was only the first day after all, he had a bit of time before he needed to start truly worrying about his safety.
Impulse and Gem were new faces for him, people he had yet to align himself with in previous lives. He didn’t want to get too close, not when the sting of betrayal still felt fresh in his mind, but even his tallest walls fell down eventually.
Eventually, the loneliness would become too much. Eventually, the yearning for friendship would win over the memories of broken promises and too many deaths. And eventually, it would all happen over and over and over again.
The sun was beginning to set, and the air was growing cold.
He didn’t know how much he had left in him. Each death consumed more of his soul. He was left aching for feelings that he could no longer find, and then memories of others were lost to the fog of abandoned lives.
Scott wondered if he would ever be free. He wondered if the cruel gods that did this to him would ever feel merciful. He wondered what it would take for death to keep him permanently. He wondered if it was worth it to keep trying at all.
Death gripped its icy hands around his wrists, tugging him down, playfully yet insistently.
Not yet, he thought.
He knew he would have to return eventually, but the nothingness could wait for a little while.
Not quite yet.