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“Seawatt. Wake up.”
“Go away, man.”
“What would you do if you became God?”
“What wouldn't I do if I were God,” Seawatt scoffs, before finally turning on his side. “What brought this up?”
“Couldn't sleep,” Evbo shrugs. He's a simple man and a simpler companion; both infinitely easier to get along with and infinitely more complicated to predict. It’s helpful when he blindly agrees to retrieve the discs, but not as much when he can’t sleep and chooses to make it Seawatt’s problem. “So?”
“Well, you would be thirty blocks away from me at all times for my own safety. Obviously.”
Obviously, Evbo mocks, mouth forming the word wordlessly. “If you wanted a restraining order in Parkour Civilization, you should've just jumped a level down.”
“I know the rules, champ. I reinforced them, remember?”
“The only thing I remember was you breaking those rules to cover your ass,” Evbo lean back on his elbows, considering. “Unless you suck at water bucket clutches. Hey, Seawatt - do you suck at water bucket clutches?”
“I'm a Parkour Master,” Seawatt chooses to say with dignity, instead of the other fifty things he ought to tell this bumfuck, like I don’t have a replenishing hunger bar and I need to sleep. “Of course, I know how to water bucket clutch.”
"Huh." Evbo remains skeptical; Seawatt bristles with it. "Why haven't I seen you water bucket clutch once?"
Because you took my water bucket, you maniac, Seawatt bites down on his tongue. He chooses to roll his eyes hard enough to feel the exasperation in the back of his head instead. “Is this your way of saying you'd give me your water bucket to demonstrate?” He asks. “I’d be happy to show you right now.”
Evbo blinks at the turn of events and shiftily angles his body away from Seawatt's still fingers. “On second thought, don't go anywhere near my water bucket.”
Seawatt narrows his eyes. Evbo, sensing danger in a rare moment of self-preservation, slowly scoots away. But he's not fast enough; Seawatt rolls closer until Evbo's back is against the wall, improvised sleeping bag abandoned, until he has pinned Evbo's lean body with his, his shadow stretching over the wall in the dim light of the hanging moon.
For one moment, Evbo blinks at him; before it turns into a squint, glaring at him. For a Parkour Champion, he’s got abysmal self-preservation instincts outside of his Parkour Battles. “What's this for?”
“You don't have your water bucket out,” Seawatt allows his grin to spill. Shamelessly, he reaches for the pillow tucked haphazardly on the sleeping bag - soft and worn, something Evbo must have pillaged from one of the fallen homes - that Evbo left behind in his quest to escape Seawatt. “You didn't say anything about being close to you.”
Evbo eyes Seawatt's haul, silent. He has a habit of doing it, falling silent before saying something inane. "Yeah, yeah—whatever. Can you move over?"
Seawatt punches the pillow a few more seconds, before settling back in, facing Evbo. There’s this brief moment where the light hits Evbo’s face just right, falling on his flushed cheeks before Seawatt’s shadow covers them again. In any case, having his back to the open space of the fourth civilization is far safer than trusting his back to him. “Nope,” he sweetly says. “I'm happy where I am. Thanks, champ.”
Evbo only grumbles minimally, before yanking his sleeping bag back. He doesn't make a move for the pillow, but it’s obvious he wants to, with his piss-poor imitation of a wriggling silverfish.
“Gapples,” Seawatt suddenly says to him. “And totems of undying. Much better if I had brewing stands.”
“Huh?"
“If I was God, I'd always have those. Infinite health, infinite lives. Nothing to be afraid of anymore.” Seawatt closes his eyes; breathes in the air, cold and sharp, never alleviating the dryness of his throat. It’s easy to get sentimental when you’re practically on home soil, breathing in the air you used to breathe, and nothing remains of it. “Most importantly, I would finally go home.”
It doesn't even get two seconds to itself before Evbo snorts, breaking the stillness of the moment. “I can't believe you, man,” Evbo laughs, body shaking as his knee presses against Seawatt's, dull earthen eyes pressed into dull earthen crescents with the sheer force of his laughter, “Of course, you’d become God and you could have done something like Parkour for world peace but no, the most important thing to you is your stupid skyscraper—”
Seawatt wakes up; sees nothing but the clouds high in the crisp blue sky and the endless void before him.
It only takes him a few more nights spent with that idiot, a betrayal, his death, and a hundred blocks and a skip away from spawn. But he’s got it right, this time. It’s close enough, tangible enough, that Seawatt already tastes it, right at the doorstep of home.
Seawat doesn't know how long he waits at the edge, waiting for something to happen.
As far as Seawatt could remember, home had been a long, bloodied fight. It had been rust on metal, the heavy clink of boots with shoddy soldered chains in an arena, and calloused palms. He had lived the better part of this miserable life like that, but it had been home, aching furiously like a flesh wound bled dry, and if he had a choice, he would live it again.
“Wow,” Evbo suddenly says, just behind Seawatt, who startles at the sudden intrusion like any sane person would. “Gotta say: I underestimated just how many people you've pissed off.”
Seawatt suppresses the urge to scream at Evbo, and once turning around, bites hard on his cheek to prevent another scream at the sight of Evbo, whose bemused AND disembodied head floats in the void, cheerfully staring at him. “How many are we talking about,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Dude, they spawn-trapped the edge. I don't even know how they got access to barrier blocks in the first place.”
And just like that, it's over.
Home isn't attainable. Seawatt will never be home again.
Seawatt tries not to let the disappointment bleed through his face, but judging from Evbo's distant pity, he's unsuccessful in this endeavor. Like with all other trysts, a demeaning voice in his head says. “Cheer up, man,” he tells Seawatt, eyes unblinking. There's something unsettling about the deep purple in his ashen obsidian eyes now, the same as netherite armor. It reminds him that's not quite human anymore, something that barely clings to the notion of mortality. “I’m not the Parkour God for nothing.”
“You’ve been Parkour God for five days,” Seawatt despairs. It was a stupid dream, of home, of a warm welcome, of his father's hand in his own and his mother's hand in his hair - a selfish dream. He’s so cooked if Evbo, with all his admittedly devastating 360s and stupid floating void head, is all he really has left.
“Stop worrying,” Evbo insists, head still bobbing in the void. It's such a ridiculous picture for a ridiculous god, who is always a step beside and never behind Seawatt, who tries and tries and tries and will never have anything to show for his efforts. “I have a plan.”
“You’re crazy,” Seawatt sputters, knuckles white on the edge of the boat. “Hold on, hold on—will you think about this for more than five fucking seconds?”
“Sure,” Evbo easily says. He looks all too happy to push the lever that might crush Seawatt against the obsidian wall he says is at the spawn point. He’d broken the barrier blocks on the spawn trap, but breaking the obsidian wall might be too obvious, so he’ll have to escape via the boat glitch. “Five.”
“Fuck you,” Seawatt spits. Glitches are finicky, even if there's a god assisting you through it. Especially if it's Evbo overseeing it. “The boat can’t get through if it’s got two or more layers of obsidian.”
“I’m not an amateur, I already hollowed the inside,” Evbo counters, gleeful. The boat tilts forward a little, and Seawatt's curses reach a higher pitch. “Three.”
Even if the boat glitch was successful, then Seawatt would end up enjoying the first three seconds of freedom and the glorious feeling of being back at home before falling into the void. He’d already told Evbo this before he even got into the boat. Evbo had looked at him then like Seawatt was crazy, as if turning into God had somehow magically erased his memories of how he threatened Seawatt endlessly with the void a lifetime ago. That’s stupid, he said then. I wouldn’t let you fall.
Seawatt whips around, shoves his finger into Evbo’s chest. “You skipped!”
Evbo laughs, full-bodied and whole. Under his finger, Evbo's heart beats, strong and loud, the everconstant beating of drums. It will never weaken, and it will never die. Seawatt has known it then, and he has known it now - it was always futile to think he could measure up against Evbo in any conceivable way. “Might as well push you in. See you on the other side, Seawatt.”
In hindsight, Evbo is an objectively good fighter. It’s a little more easier to appreciate when it’s not Seawatt on the other side.
“This is an objectively impossible jump,” Seawatt notes, trying to keep track of the barrier blocks Evbo leaves behind every five-block gap for him. It’s a little hard to outpace the fighters, who know the terrain more intimately than Seawatt now, but he still manages: eyes still trained on Evbo’s back. Evbo’s always too fast for his good, and right now he’s a little too far to hear what Seawatt’s saying, but since when has he ever cared about what he can and cannot do?
“Right?” He yells back. “That’s what I said about the five-block jump with the barrier block cheat the Evil Parkour Champion did to me!”
For the love of— “Can you be normal about the names and just call him my old boss?”
Someone must lose their patience because eventually, a potion hurtles towards Evbo’s face somewhere from the side. “Hey!” He turns to it indignantly, and Seawatt mourns his derailed escape masterclass as Evbo jumps towards them. “The first rule of Parkour Civilization is parkour to fight, man, don't you all know that—”
Now, Evbo faces him, entirely indulgent, face lit with a bright grin. He’s victorious in the ridiculous 15V1 Parkour Battle—because of course, he is. Seawatt would be annoyed if it wasn't for the sprig of hope in his chest, a verdant bloom in the new dawn on home soil. Despite everything, he is at his core, just a spoiled, lost child who wants his father and his mother and the normalcy of home. Evbo checks him with his shoulder as he leaps a block ahead of the empty checkpoint. "Where do you first want to go?"
Seawatt closes his eyes; savors the wind in his hair as he follows Evbo. His feet know the dance of moving here: the preciseness of each jump, the breadth of a breath between one block and the next. He allows himself a moment of peace, just this once, the feeling of home settling in his bones, opens his mouth and—
Evbo takes them to the Ice Legend's Parkour course first, because in his defense, the Legend courses are the only places here that he had the opportunity to sightsee in between parkour fighting and actual parkouring for the discs.
This is what Seawatt gets for being sentimental.
“You can't judge me for picking the only places I know.” Evbo mutinously mutters as he waits for Seawatt to gear up for the cold, cloak pulled tight over his shoulders. Evbo, of course, has no need for it, given his status as a God. “Between the two of us, you're the local. Why are you asking me where to go?”
Schematics. Seawatt sighs, looks up at the intimidating wall of ice, looming over them. His only experience with ice jumps is the five block ice jump outside the truth building that he has to do everyday, so he won't be completely hopeless here. He chooses to deflect instead of answering. “What happens when we reach the top?”
“I—huh. I haven't thought that far ahead, actually.” Evbo slowly says, and tilts his head at him, netherite eyes narrowed. “Why? Do you want something to happen?”
Seawatt considers it. On a good day, Evbo's idea of something might be a cool jump he has just perfected, but most of the time it borders on let's duel to the death! Seawatt does not like his odds being on the other end of that.
“Oh—I got an idea!” Evbo grins. “Race you to the top for it?”
They both wince at the wording.
"Without the dying," Evbo adds, a bit more seriously. "Just—first to the top?"
It's a fool's task. Seawatt's never been particularly good at Parkour before, and he's nowhere near Evbo's level. “Sure,” he says, after some careful consideration. He crooks his finger at Evbo, smile cloyingly sweet. “On one condition.”
Evbo comes, as easy as always—as though they haven't done this before, as if he isn't God. He jumps from his block, slides on the three-foot ice block Seawatt's until they're almost pressed together. One slip, and they tumble into the void. He looks at Seawatt expectantly. It's a level of trust he shouldn't be afforded, but what can you really do to harm God? “Yes?”
Seawatt leans in, reaches up to cup his palm against Evbo's ear—
—and pushes him off the block.
“You're such a dirty fucking cheat,” Evbo complains once he makes it up, only a few seconds behind Seawatt, and plops his sorry ass right next to Seawatt.
"You're such a sore fucking loser," Seawatt only laughs, basking in the cold air on his skin. Goosebumps break across the surface of it; he draws his cloak tighter. “So what do I get now, champ?”
“Not that you deserve it,” Evbo grumbles, a distant look already in his eye as he engages with his inventory, which is probably full of shit nobody has ever had to use or even seen in their lives. Gods. “But it's such a nice night anyway, so…”
There's a firework rocket in his hand. In front of him, Evbo grins, proud and expecting, torch in one hand.
“Well?” he prods.
Seawatt huffs, and holds it out. Evbo lights the wick: he lets it go.
For the first time in a long, long time, the Fighter Civilization's tranquil skyline breaks. There is yellow high in the clouds, then pink, then violet. Myriads of colors they've never seen as bright as before, only in the faded shine of the trim on old, polished sandstone.
Some of her sons bare their teeth. They go for their blocks and they set off for the Ice Legend's Parkour courses. Some don't do anything but watch, perched on worn sandstone. They watch sparks disappear into the sky, the first hint of joy the land has seen in a long, long time.
Underneath the firework show, Seawatt tilts his head back and allows it to wash over him. He reaches out, even though it is his hand that has let go of each and every firework rocket. The particles trickle down after every explosion.
"How's that for an idea?" Evbo asks him, netherite eyes so bright in the moment. His lips are curved into a grin, proud and wide.
Seawatt feels his heart crawl up his throat. It chokes him sentiment, chokes him with something he cannot name. So he does what he does best: shoves him until Evbo sputters, and shoves him back after they've lit up another firework.
For his first night back home, it's kinder than he deserves. It's the kind of night he'll hold like gold in his memories forever.
It's a beautiful night, all things considered.
You're being awfully indulgent.
Hm?
Oh, sorry—forgot it was too big a word for you. It's like when I ask you to jump one block for one piece of cooked steak and I give you three anyway.
Wow, fuck you.
There's the anger I've been looking for.
??? Do you want me to throw you a cliff or what?
Well, that's kind of the reaction I'm expecting from someone I threw under the block—
Yeah, you're a manipulative piece of shit, but I’m not really one to kick someone while they're down.
—just like… that? Wait, what?
It's kind of a fact of life—like, y’know: the sky's blue, grass is green, Seawatt's an asshole—
Fucker???
So I'm not really mad at you about it. Not anymore. Not after that.
Ah. A pause. So you're here to make fun of me.
Well, you're a little right, but that's a harder jump than a backwards back-to-back-to-back 1080o five block brewing stand jump.
You're just making jumps up!
What's the point of being God if I can't make up my own jumps? And anywho—why do you care?
It's so weird! You're being so— so—
Nice? What—hasn't anybody ever been nice to you before?
That's not it. A pause. You're being kind.
I don't really think of it like that.
So you know you are and you don't care.
Kinda? It's just hard to think of it as taking advantage of me when I'm clearly the only guy you've got for the job.
…we are so cooked. We, as a civilization, are so unbelievably cooked.
Given that you're still alive, I'd call that a masterclass at playing God. A laugh. Night, Seawatt.
In the grander scheme of things, nothing changes. In a literal past life, Seawatt wakes up, parkours for his job and his food and his life, and goes to sleep. That's just how life is in Parkour Civilization.
In this life, Seawatt wakes up. He gets dragged kicking and screaming to parkour; down the Ice Legend's course (holding hands to discourage shoving each other off the ice), a thousand blocks to the Glass Legend's (a bad idea, because the two of them HATE glass block jumps) course, then a thousand steps in the other direction to the Neo Legend's course (Evbo gleefully calls each and every single calibrated ‘mistake’ Seawatt makes). They run from the Fighters. If they have to kill, Seawatt never looks them in the eyes. Evbo never begrudges him this.
Every night in between, he gets to sleep, tuck his head into his arms and rest for a while. He is always safe, even if Evbo pretends to stop caring. Seawatt will never want for full hunger or cooked food ever again.
It's not the same as his nostalgic, tinted-glass bottle-bottom dream of home: his mother and his father by his side, bogged down by heavy chains and smelling of rust. But here is the thing about Evbo: he has been a freak of nature long before he became God. He is clinically insane, distressingly simple-minded, and single-minded to a freakish degree, but he must not know: he is the closest thing Seawatt has ever had to home in this pathetic life.