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Bdubs balances on a pillar of dirt and stone. He reaches upwards, fiddling with the redstone, flicking levers. His undershirt rides up as he does, the wind brushing against exposed skin, sending a shiver through his body.
He exhales, the chilly air forming a veil of mist as he steps backwards, nearly forgetting he was on a one-block surface, barely clutching the needled branch before him. Snow falls to the ground with a deaf thud. His eyes widen. He lets out another breath, one of relief.
Bdubs summons a bucket of lava from his inventory. It bubbles inside its iron walls, the heat tickling and burning his fingers, a stark contrast to the gnawing cold. He grins.
The hot liquid slowly pours over into the dispenser, like cake batter settling into a tin, it's not as domestic as the activity would be. In this life, it’s a necessity. Every day Bdubs wakes up at the crack of dawn, drenched in cold sweat, burning hot from fever. His eyes would dart around his surroundings, alarmed by every shadow, and in some wicked paradox, he’s drowning in the thirst for blood, head spinning as his thoughts scream to hurt.
Having to deal with it alone is the problem. Holding the empty bucket in his hands, the leftover warmth, like one of a dim fireplace, once blazing bright, but since put out, settles into them, he lets his gaze linger on the fence wall separating the Snow Fort in two.
He sighs, and goes back to his task. It wouldn’t happen. Never in a million years. He’d have to cross the void for it.
Bdubs rummages around his inventory, another bucket soon in his hands. He’s back in the cycle, more lava lazily making its way down to where there’s more of it. He allows his mind to wander.
“If me and Etho were together…”
He thinks out loud.
Just for a moment, a brief pause, the gust of a breeze, he stops.
They could be the deadliest duo the server would know. With their combined forces, Bdubs’ amazing leadership skills and Etho’s flawless redstone, they’d stand on a hill and watch as the server burns in front of them, and they’d be working hand-in-hand.
…
Is it holding hands if they were holding the edge of the same knife?
Of course, he’d tried to convince the man to join him.
Very discreetly, he thinks, staring at the container of bubbling lava hanging atop precious spruce trees.
Was it the instincts urging him to cause harm? Or was it the crave for his attention, his praise…
him?
They’d be spending the cold nights together again, huddled close to keep the warmth between them, and only them. Bdubs wouldn’t have to stand near the door, soul clawing for it to open, like he was some dog, whining and scratching just so his will would be done. He would get to see Etho again, and they’d share the look they’d been sharing since forever, and he’d gaze into his lively eyes that spark up when he gets an idea, and the only source of their conflict would be the shape of the stairs. They could share a base again, and moments that were only for the two to know.
But that wouldn’t happen. Would it? The freezing wind shakes Bdubs back to his senses, a bitter smile creeping up on his face.
“On the red team.”
He adds. Because that's the only thing separating them, he tells himself. The colour of their names and the sickening wall between their halves of the fort. There can't be feeling. Not in this reality. Right?
And it goes silent. Bdubs continues to pour lava into the dispenser.
Bdubs knows it’s a risk.
The snow crunches under his boots as he walks, spots of the melted frost beginning to appear every so often, dappling the vast white with emerald. It’s quiet, clouds cover the sky, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
He tightens his grip on the sword, and brings his shield closer to him.
A mix of red, burning bloodlust charring him from the inside and the freezing cold swirls inside of him, he shivers despite feeling like a forest fire was going on in his body. Bdubs swears his vision is speckled with red.
He knows that what he’s doing is dangerous.
But it was his chance to prove himself.
To earn a life. To earn the life he was once dreaming of, to be back to something, someone he knew. Lives were the most prized currency on the server, but it could as well be worth a blade of grass if what came with it was being back to what he knew. Who he knew.
The structure of the fort looms over the thinning forest. Bdubs sees a group of figures standing on the walls. He feels the burn of anger. That was once his home. Now destroyed, ripped apart and glued back together again. Infiltrated by the ones that weren’t meant to be there. He wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve.
The next moments are a blur.
He’s with the other reds. He’s not like they are. He has a purpose. All they do is kill. It went over his head when they were planning the siege of Scott and Cleo’s secret base. His eyes were laser focused on his one target.
He loves me. He cares.
He loves me.
He’ll give me a life and we’ll be together again.
The wither rose falls down to the ground, thorns pricking the skin on Lizzie’s exposed calf. She jumps away, surprised, but the effect is already running through her bloodstream. He knows it. The wound darkens, and Bdubs stays still. The crowd of reds grows suspicious.
She turns to face him.
Betrayal.
Not the first time he’s done that. It’s a necessity.
He loads the crossbow.
Lizzie’s gone in a matter of a couple ticks of damage, specks of blood and colourful sparks of fireworks.
I had to!
I had to!
He repeats to himself as he runs. His vision darts around for a possible opening, there’s nothing but the hill he’s pressed against, like prey in a dead end, jaws snapping behind him.
They’re right on him.
Arrows are shot his way, piercing through his back. Red trickles in his vision once again, but it’s his own.
The red of blood, an alarm, a clear sign of his surroundings.
Bdubs clutches the wound on the side of his stomach. His ears ring, he can’t even hear the branches snap as an animal traverses the forest or the wind whirls between the trees.
His body grows heavy, and his eyelids are begging to be closed. His mouth goes dry, filled with a coppery taste.
Bdubs notices the traces of a bush, sharp twigs standing out in all directions. Leafless, incomplete.
He collapses.
And as he dies, he lets his thoughts wander one last time.
If him and Etho were together, maybe he wouldn't have sent him to die. Yet if they were, he would have agreed to it a thousand times.
His eyes close.
He loves me. He cares.
Right?
The fever leaves the body of Bdubs, and Last Life’s chill has overtaken another.