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Grian's head pounds as he kneels in front of the body of his teammate, the avian's wings— they are injured beyond repair from the various fights and explosions— attempting to shield the pair from the beating sun of the desert. Scar's rotten gray skin stained with blood and grains of sand sprinkled in the deep brown locks of his hair. He’s dead, killed by the one who sworn to be in his service, Grian is the final one standing. It's fitting, honestly. The one to win this sickening game being the one who was brought to ascension by its creators, though Grian would never consider himself to be aligned with the watchers, quite the opposite actually.
He really hopes his attempts to sour this meal for them isn't futile, not that it would make any of this worth the pain, but it would at least make him feel like inserting himself into the game wouldn't be causeless. Grian gets up and turns his back from away from Scar, he couldn't look at him in that state anymore. A man once so full of joy forced into this twisted death game so those sick deities can feed of the player's pain. Grian stands in silence for a few moments, waiting for something to happen. He’s the last one, isn't he? Why isn't anything happening? He has already been forced to watch his friends kill each other, watch his friends be taken over by a lust for blood that isn't theirs, watch his friends hunt and be hunted like animals, watch his—
Then it hits him.
The game won't stop till everyone is dead, until every single beating heart has stopped and fizzled out. There is still one more life he has to take. “I don't feel good...” Grians blinks away a few spare tears from his eyes, speaking more to himself than to anyone. Perhaps it's just because he wants to hear something other than the bristle of the wind against his ears, or maybe it's the fact he can still see a familiar set of eyes in him. This doesn't feel like how Grian pictured victory, but it's not surprising that the only ones who would every truly win in the end would be the watchers. Grian snakes his way out of the cactus pit, his feet taking him to the edge of monopoly mountain.
Grian looks down from the edge of the mountain. Normally, he wouldn't describe himself as someone who is afraid of heights, but something about this is making his stomach queasy and his head feel consumed by dizziness. Maybe it's the thought that hes about to jump to his death, or maybe hes just a coward. Grian swallows in a shallow breath before he turns around. “it's been amazing...” Grian tries to image theirs an audience of his fallen friends surrounding him as ghost, where they are at peace and will be set free from the watcher's grasp. Deep down he knows that the watchers would never be merciful enough to let that happen, but he can pretend. Grian brings his hand up to his head to do a cheeky salute as he slowly steps back, inching ever closer to the edge “...Goodbye”
The avian falls, his wings instinctively trying to flare up to slow the fall, but they are far too injured to do so. Grian closes his eyes before a searing pain hits the back of his entire body. He could feel the base of his wings twist and he could feel his bones crack on impact, but the pain was gone as soon as it came.
The next thing grian remembers is waking up and seeing pitch black. He has no injuries besides the fact that his entire body ached with phantom pains as he sat up, his wings feel numb and he can't move them all that well but when he looks over them as he sits up, they seem fine. He was in what seemed to be nothing but the void, he didn't even know how he was here in the first place, shouldn't he be dead? every single one of his instincts screamed at him that there was something dangerous here, but the question was where. “How was that, our little bird?” Grian winces as an overlapping of voices surrounds him at all angles, a statue-like figure forming Infront of him. Its body looked to be nothing but stone other than the large feathery wings that sprouted from the sides of its head and the base of its back, it wore white and purple robes and a mask with a symbol of a rectangle with two of the corners separated on it, the mask obscuring the entirety of what would be its face. But grian knew there was nothing but void behind it.
“Was that fun? Did that ending make you learn your lesson when it comes to not interfering with things you simply cannot comprehend?” Grian had to hold back the need to scream in both anger and anguish at the watchers mocking words being pummeled against his ears. “You...” Grian pauses, swallowing a voice crack that burns its way into his throat. “You have no right to be using them like this... For this sick and twisted game!”
“They are simply players,” the watchers spit out the word like it disgusts them “All of them are nothing but replaceable and worthless. You should be grateful that you don't have to associate with them anymore, yet you still choose too. You’ve been quite the thorn in our side, little mockingbird, inserting yourself into this game in an attempt to soil it. Of course, it only partially worked. Everything will always end in the dance of war and bloodshed, no matter how much you try to prevent it.” Grian's blood boils at the Falses gods' words, but he chooses to stay silent. “But let's put that in the past now. We have a gift for our little winged one, to celebrate his victor—”
“Whatever it is I don't want it. Not again.” Grian interrupted, his hand tracing over the symbol on the inside of his left wrist, the same symbol the watcher had on the mask hiding its face, at the thought of being given something by them again. The last time they said they had a gift for him they turned him into one of them, a watcher. Their marking on the inside of his wrist was their way of branding him, to ensure he could never get away.
“Oh, you foolish little bird... You already know you don't have a choice.” The watchers spoke, mock pity lacing their voice. Grian could only reply with a glare while he tried to keep his breaths steady, trying to stand his ground against the watcher, but the fear for whatever they had planned for him was clawing at his stomach. “Since you've made it clear that you just love our game so much, we’ve decided that your friends are going to get to play them forever! The next one is even based on you, little bird.” Grians stomach dropped.
“No... that's impossible, you already killed them.” Grian stated as he tried to calm the feeling of fear that was clawing its way up his brain. “Oh, but anything is possible at our will, little bird, you should know that better than anyone.” the watcher spoke with a snicker prevalent in their voice. Grian felt his eyes already feeling watery and the of his friends being put through this sick form of torture over and over again.
“Please, just... let them go... You can give me their pain tenfold!... just release them...” Grian whispered, turning his head away from the watchers while he tried to suck in his tears. “it's too late now, we’ve already decided. This void is where you'll be staying while the players heal up for the next game. We can't have them going into a fight already injured and aware, can we?” The watchers spoke as if they thought the players— grians friends —were all just playthings.
“And who knows, maybe the next winner will join you in this void!” Grian swallowed back a sob before he turned his head back to the watchers, tears slowly pushing their way out of his eyes while he kept a defiant glare is painted on his face. “I hope you know that I won't ever rest until you let them go. I will keep throwing myself into your gruesome death games, I will continue to protect my friends from your control, and I will always be here to try and give them the joy you find so disgusting!” Grian shouted, his eyes showing nothing but pure hatred and rebelliousness.
“You can try, little bird. But even you know that you aren't immune to the red blood lust.” The watchers remarked, continuing before Grian could even utter a protest “we suppose we should take our leave. See you soon, our little bird,” Grian could hear a noise that sounded like rushing wind as he watched the Watchers statue slowly dissolved into the inky blackness of the void, leaving Grian alone and in silence.
Grian let himself fall to his knees on the floor of the void —did the void have a floor? He didn't know, but it felt like it did— as the tears stinging his eyes began to fall freely down his cheeks. “I'm sorry...” Grian said with a sob. “I'm sorry BigB, I'm sorry Cleo, I'm sorry Scott, I'm sorry Martyn, I'm sorry Joel-” It continued to go like that for a while. Crying while apologizing to everyone, it didn't matter if he was allies or enemies with them in this game, they were all his friends. His dumb, oblivious, but so fucking kindhearted and quick-witted friends that deserve nothing less than the world, and instead they got this cruel and unending torture.
After a while of choked apologies, he got to the final one, the one that hurt the most. “I'm sorry-... I'm so sorry Scar...” Grian cried as he gripped his poncho that hung loosely around his shoulders, the same poncho that Scar made him. Grian took a moment to steady his breathing and wipe his tears away from his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him.
Grian curled up on the void floor as he let himself slip into blissful unconsciousness. He was going to be here for a while, might as well get some much needed rest.