Chapter Text
Consciousness is a vague wisp of a thing, not quite within reach. A soul bobbing within a warm crystal, glowing a faint pinkish-red. It’s peaceful, but — they’re missing something. They’re not sure what it is. Maybe it will come to them. If they don’t remember, well, it can’t be that important, right?
Imperceptible colors drift by the way they do when your eyes are closed, facsimiles made by a brain deprived of visual information.
There’s infrared threads weaving about them, cradling them, suspended in the endless, starless void. It has the radioactive glow of power coming from another place, reaching across the gaps of space. It feels familiar. It belongs to someone familiar. If only they could remember who.
That’s not the only important thing, they think. There’s something else. The threads buoy the crystal heart higher, above the dark waves threatening to pull them down.
There’s a burning sensation slicing them through and growing. That’s oddly familiar too. The words of the universe are as of yet too quiet to hear, but they’re still present; ∴ᔑꖌᒷ ⚍!¡.
They’re not just a loose whisper of a soul, they recall. Yes, that is important. They’re a person, a Player, trapped in stasis waiting for an uninhibited revival. Someone has hold of their heart, their Lifeforce, and is calling to them across the vast divide. The glow becomes redder, an unearthly shade born of the marrow of the universe. Yes. Their name is … they don’t remember. But they are a person and they can hear the call.
They need their hands back. The weeping curse-cut strengthens their being, bringing their eyes, and in this place they can see more than most. Their someone is weaving rapidly, with an unexpected and articulate speed. Are they under a time limit? Hm. That would be inconvenient.
Hands, yes. They need hands. They dip their face into the stream of bifrost and it spills through their hair shocked white and they take a deep and gasping breath as it pools in their lungs.
∴ᔑꖌᒷ ⚍!¡, calls the world, and they hear it.
Working on it!
The pain isn’t real pain, only a sensation that a living body would interpret as pain and that a dead one interprets as anchor. The scar is most of their face and the code-cut draws them forward.
Claws grip the edge of the cliff and they grin wildly. The tethers to the crystal have become belaying rope and the only way to go is up.
||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᓭℸ ̣ ∷𝙹リ⊣ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑリ ||𝙹⚍ ꖌリ𝙹∴
He is still weaving for them, a hand outreached. They climb.
ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ꖎ╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍ ᓭᒷᒷꖌ ╎ᓭ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ ||𝙹⚍
In this veil between Life and Death, the song of the universe is more meant to be heard. They will forget its clarity when they cross back and only know the faint impression of its hope. That’s the price of living mortal, after all; for the poetry of the code and the music of the spheres to be beyond you.
A clearer voice reaches him: ᒷℸ ̣ ⍑𝙹!ETHO!
They’re Etho. They’re Etho! They’re very close now. The light around them is flickering though, energy draining too fast. Reaching across the veil was never meant to be easy, but if Etho has made it this far, then together they and their anchor have to trust it can be done. There is no looking down or else the consuming void might sap their nerve.
ETHO! The familiar voice calls again.
I’m working on it! Etho insists, though he probably can’t hear them.
They climb even when their pawpads ache, when the roughness scrapes their hands open, when a cold wind makes their scar sting. Nothing matters but getting out and getting back.
Etho! It’s closer now, and gods, the name is on the tip of Etho’s tongue.
They reach up.
“Pause!”
A hand grips their’s.
Etho is hauled out of the blackness with no memory of what came before. It’s a harsh respawn, and they convulse where they lay, a shadow at their side nearly keeling over and being caught by another. All three of them are breathing hard, Etho filling their lungs anew and remembering what that’s meant to feel like. There’s a haze trailing in their vision, a blur of unreal colors the same as a mind constructs without visual information when your eyes are closed.
A warm hand pushes Etho’s hair back from their face as they shiver, their own hands grasping at air. “Just breathe. Alright.”
Beef has a hand on Etho’s head and his other arm wrapped around Pause, slumped against him. Etho’s voice comes out as a cracked wheeze, not managing words.
“Not yet.” Beef warns. “Put yourself back together first.”
It’s easier said than done. Etho can’t remember what killed him; there’s a bone-deep ache dragging down his whole body, and there’s no way he could peel himself off the ground if he tried. His heart is certainly beating, but the pace feels just slightly off, not quite settled the way it should be. Beef pets his face for another few moments, his hand oddly warm (is Etho just cold?) before he grasps Etho’s wrist, twisting his own hand to align his thumb to Etho’s Lifemarks. Etho’s arm is largely numb and his fingers full of pins-and-needles, but his Lifemarks are raw and he groans when Beef tries to gauge.
“Ow. Ow.” Etho whimpers in disagreement.
“Sorry.” Beef relinquishes the intimate hold and rubs the back of Etho’s hand. “Just checking. Can’t have any of you left behind.”
“Yeah.” Pause mumbles, eyes closed. He’s dangerously pale and Etho’s a little surprised he’s awake. “Don’t…don’t make me do that again.”
“Not planning on it.” Etho mumbles. “Didn’t … think respawn was enabled.”
“It’s not.” Beef answers. “Can you guys shut up and rest or something? We’re not going anywhere anytime soon and you have no one to impress.
Etho wiggles his fingers and tries twitching his tail. When they try and shift their head a spark of pain bounces off the inside of their skull, but it thankfully dissipates after a single hit. They definitely fucked up if something killed them. Etho wonders why Pause decided to go so far as to attempt necromancy. Usually it’s better to just push ahead, or team-wipe at worst. But everything from before waking up is a smear of nothingness.
“I’m gonna…” Etho trails off, willing themself to roll over, but it’s not that easy. He blindly scrabbles against the ground, not quite clear on where their hand is. Their shoulder barely lifts from the ground. “Beeeef.”
Beef grips Etho by the shoulder and pulls them to their side, Etho curling into the fetal position as he does, moaning. It only produces new pains, but it’s a better way to lay overall.
“Thanks. By the way.” Etho tells Pause.
“Mm…hm…” Pause barely answers.