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The sun stood high at its peak as players began to gather. Sounds of music could be heard from the jukebox beside the pool, accompanying the tune of their chatter. It seemed like a calm day, a treasure rarely found in the Games of Life, and even though tensions rose, somehow, that was a moment of pause.
Until it wasn’t. Somebody came up with the great idea to experiment with fishing rods - in a world where hearts were linked, and consequences of actions weren’t limited to just a singular soul. Truly, an idea not many could come up with. Great. Surely that will go well.
Etho watched in the shade of a tree as Grian, pillared up high enough to graze the sky with his fingertips, swung the fishing rod.
It landed on Joel’s shirt collar, the man responding with a call of surprise, a bucket of water - a gamble with safety - summoned to keep him ready. Etho fixed his attention on the scene in front of him, the murmurs of the crowd turning into background noise.
He felt the ground fleet from under him just like Joel’s did, a confusing mix of fear and thrill tugging on the soul bind as his soulmate reached altitude. Faster than eyes could register, he plummeted towards the ground, barely saving himself as waves splashed against the grass. Etho sighed with relief.
Joel seemed to want to go again, like playing with his own life meant nothing more than a carnival ride. Etho battled with himself - he was never one to turn down chaos, but this time the aftermath couldn’t be avoided, and survival was primary in these games.
Somewhere along the way, Pearl joined into this apparent “experiment”, her own fishing rod ready to be hooked on someone. Her eyes - scarlet red, one sliced with a scar that felt too much like Etho’s own reflection, mirrored the urge for hijinks and risk inside of him.
Sure. He could try this out too. It would just be harmless fun, right? The logical part of his mind wanted to believe so.
The hook dug into the back of his jacket. Etho himself attached Impulse, the poor confused man sitting on a horse, to the mix.
He looked up at Grian perched at the top of the pillar, frame covered with an ominous shade, a stark contrast to the sun behind him.
“Three!” He yelled, hands ready to reel.
“Two!” Tension grew.
”One!”
Joel let out a blood-curdling scream as Grian pulled on the fishing rod, the pain overtaking his right shoulder spreading right to Etho.
He was barely off the ground. It felt like a blur.
A burning ache. A gasp for air.
Joel landed straight on the ground, and Etho could only hear a glimpse of his bones breaking at the impact before the soul bind snapped.
***
They ended up back at the Relation Ship. The last remains of sunlight stirred Etho awake, limbs heavy from the strain of the respawn. Bile gathered at the back of his throat, he shot up - a horrible decision, as he soon learned. His head spun, images all melting into one. The nausea seemed to get even worse than it was, almost as if it had doubled.
Joel seemed to be waking up right next to him on the bed, eyelids coming to an open, revealing irises that have turned a deep red, a window to the soul.
Almost mechanically, he stood up before Etho could stop him, pain shooting through both of their heads. He was silent - too silent for Joel - as he stared off into the distance.
And then the ticking time bomb went past its time. Anger rushed through him, strong enough to cause physical pain, a fever too familiar. Right. They were on their last life now.
“They killed me, Etho!” He yelled, fists clenched, “They killed me!”
”They did?” Etho asked as Joel stormed out of the door, even though the answer was clear.
”I tried to water-bucket, but it was too high.” Joel responded as he slid down the ladder. Etho felt the sting of pain in his shoulder, same as before.
The sky was morphing into hues of orange and red, perfectly fitting for their change of life, but a clear sign that they had taken long to respawn. Could their fall have generated such an injury that it needed more time to recover? It seemed like Joel hadn’t recovered from it, either, so it would only be wise if…
“Joel, you’re-“ He put a hand on Joel’s shoulder - the one that didn’t seem to hurt - to stop him, but the man flicked it off instantly.
He didn’t stop in his tracks, speeding up as he followed the path and the stairs down. ”We’re gonna have to head back.” He stated.
Etho didn’t bother to try one more time.
The journey was silent as the sun hid behind the horizon, scared like the players gathered in the clearing, although the crowd had thinned out. Joel’s rage ignited in the soul bind like tongues of fire, eyes darting around for somebody to unleash it on. Etho followed like a shadow, and the anger was beginning to rub off on him. They stared as Joel charged through, when he finally found the target.
Grian.
The man himself seemed to notice, anxiety making him take a step back. Joel didn’t care - he lunged.
He gripped the collar of Grian’s jumper, unnatural strength rooted from the raw essence of red life instincts letting him pick the man up from the ground, deaf to his attempts to make himself go free.
“Listen, listen, listen!” He pleaded. “Joel, Joel, we can talk about-”
Not for long, though, and it may have been the worse option, as Joel used the remainders of that force to slam Grian down to the ground, dirt flying up. He coughed up the air left in him, and as he was trying to pick himself up, Joel kicked him back down, holding him against the grass.
“Can’t believe you bloody killed us!” His voice akin to a roar, a predator before it could sink its teeth in its prey’s throat.
Panic rushed through Grian’s soulbind, and because Scar wasn’t an idiot, he immediately rode his way over to the fighting pair. Etho, noticing Joel’s annoyance at the approaching man, decided to back his soulmate up as well. He wasn’t going to let them lay a finger on the man he shared half his heart with.
Seeing Scar, Joel stepped away, not minding that he kicked Grian’s ribs as he took said step back. Grian rolled over and stood up before any other trick could be pulled, dusting off his clothes. Silence fell over the pair, only leaving the sounds of Joel and Grian’s heavy, irregular breathing.
“Give us back our stuff, and nobody gets hurt.” He muttered, glaring straight at the other pair.
“We saved your stuff!” Grian raised his arms up in surrender, though his attention seemed to be jumping from the men in front to the glistening diamond sword at his side. He wasn’t interested in being manhandled again, and noticing that his attacker was armed with simply his fists, fury making him bite off more than he could chew. Another attack would be a futile effort.
“All of it?” He asked.
Grian nodded.
He wasn’t lying. There it was, a chest in the middle of the field, right where they had fallen, the pillar still marking the place, a cruel memorial.
Joel caved, and he stormed right in its direction. He pushed it open, rummaging through its contents. There were significantly less things in there, Etho noted, even with Joel having begun to take back his and Etho’s belongings.
Grian tensed from where he had been standing.
“Our chestplates are missing.” Joel stood up. He cracked his knuckles.
So they weren’t telling the truth after all. Etho turned to Grian, watching as the man panicked, before blurting out, “Pearl’s stolen them!”
Nearly in unison, Joel and Etho’s attention fixed on Pearl. She was alone, red hoodie making her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness. Their instincts were hungry, begging from the inside to feed, to see blood spilled upon the lush grass. Nobody around could move a muscle, nobody could stop them.
And now that they were fighting together, and not alone, now that Etho had a partner that knew the feeling of red fever like the back of his hand, who embraced it and killed in cold blood, dancing to its rhythm, he felt his own urges waking up as well.
He had never gotten to be Red Etho before, had he?
With no way out, laughter, manic and tired, escaped her. She began to run - which had been rendered useless as Etho shot forwards, completely drowning in the wildness of the bloodlust.
And suddenly, he understood how Joel befriended this side of himself. He couldn’t help but give in - it felt simply natural. Like a dog chasing after a squirrel, he was more than satisfied to oblige, to chase, to run in order to get a taste of scarlet on its teeth. Behind the mask, the corners of his lips formed a grin, eyes - both human and mechanical - fixated on the form that was stumbling through the woods.
He halted just for a brief moment, listening as Pearl’s cackling washed into the distance.
“Let me borrow your horse, Impulse.” He spoke, and the words didn’t feel like his own voice, the animal behind his red instincts not understanding sound. Impulse, not wanting to risk his life, gave in. Etho leaped straight on the horse, directing it where he could still hear Pearl.
Somewhere along the way, Joel joined in as well. The two were still chasing, and Pearl was beginning to realise they weren’t joking. Etho summoned an axe in his hand, his hold tight, and he swung.
It was easier to jump off the horse when they got closer. Finally, a feast! Etho pulled the axe from Pearl’s injured body, satisfied to see blood dripping from its sharp edge. He had sliced through the muscle of one of her arms, red staining more red. That, in return, activated Joel. Through the soulbind, Etho felt his soulmate’s instincts go haywire, screaming for blood, blood, blood!
Kill kill kill attack lunge swing cut
Joel bared his teeth in a smile, his own axe ending up in his hand. Go. - Etho urged. With permission, their dog pack split, and Joel seemed more happy than ever to be sinking his blade into Pearl. Even though she was ready to give the armour back. Joel thrived on the fear in her eyes, and the blood, the delicious blood gushing from her neck where he had bashed his axe into. She cried out into the skies.
In a puff of smoke, Pearl was gone, and soon, Scott was too. It left two soulmates standing in a pile of items, covered head to toe in red, from the blood that dripped down from their soaked forms to the names hanging above them. Red. All red.
***
After the day was finally over, they left the bloodstained front yard to be Impulse and Bdubs' problem. It was safe to say - the server wasn’t going to be having pool parties anytime soon.
They were on their way to the Relation, clothes dripping with creek water instead of scarlet liquid. The moment calm, they enjoyed as dawn arrived, dappling the spots between the trees a pinkish orange. Soon, the trees thinned out, and they could see the proud structure of their base rise over the hill. It seemed like it was going to be okay - they’d be making plans for traps, and complete everything they dreamed of doing when they were talking as yellows one night.
Though consumed by the rush of instincts, Etho had forgotten about one thing. Joel’s shoulder injury. On their way home, he kept guarding that side, and when a skeleton shot an arrow to his back, he yowled like an animal that had its tail stepped on. Surely a sensitive spot, and it would make them weak in combat.
Joel was quick to head to their quarters, not saying a word.
Etho caught him a moment before he locked himself in, “What are you doing?”
“Just gonna patch my wounds up. Gotta be in… top shape if we want to kill everybody, or something.” He shrugged.
Which was not making the injury he was trying to hide feel particularly good, another stab of pain shooting through the soulbind.
“Oh yeah?” Etho raised an eyebrow. “Even that one on your back? You’re gonna need a second person to fix that one up.”
He could make out recognition in Joel’s eyes, but he quickly realised, “I don’t have an injury on my back.”
Etho clicked his tongue, “I don’t know about that one, Joel. Soulmates, you know? I can feel your pain, you feel mine, that kind of stuff.”
“Leave me alone, Etho.” Joel took a step forward, the small distance between them threatening.
“Your health is my health, Joel. Trying to keep an open secret is gonna get me killed.” He replied.
Joel chuckled, although there was not a twinge of humour in the sound, “Wow, and I thought you actually cared about the other person in this soulbind.”
“It’s gonna get us killed.” Etho corrected himself. “Now let me see. If it gets infected, it’s not gonna be good for you.”
“I’m used to this, Etho.” Joel reassured, his hand already on the door handle, “How do you think I made it in the previous two seasons? I’m gonna manage just fine.”
“But now you have teammates, Joel. And someone can actually take care of you. It’s not just 'your life, my life'. A team means people having your back.” He sighed, “So, will you let yourself trust me?”
Joel stood there. His gaze, already tired, was interlocked with Etho’s, and he had never seen the man look so defeated.
“Fine.” Joel scoffed. “Come right in.”
“This is my house too, you know.” Etho tried to cheer up the atmosphere, but it remained still.
Joel sat down on the bed, unbuttoning his outer vest as Etho looked through the barrel by their bed, finding miserable excuses for medical supplies. Just a bunch of moss, a bottle of clean water, and wool they had stretched and dried in the first week to make bandages. Ideally, they’d be able to brew potions, but apparently the ‘all mighty force’ had told Grian that they couldn’t risk consuming anything that would mess with their health system. So here they were, in a tight room, sitting on a messed-up bed, playing hospital.
Etho returned to Joel, setting the supplies beside them. Joel was left in nothing but a tight-fitted shirt hugging his torso, his regular clothes thrown to the ground. Strangely, he didn’t see blood on the undershirt at all. Huh.
He took a deep breath, reaching up to un-zip the tight material. Etho was honestly expecting something completely different when he saw something around Joel’s chest, and what he saw surprised him.
Out of Joel’s back grew a pair of wings. Not feathered ones that rose birds above treetops, they were rather insect-like, decorated with a mosaic of light green patches lined with brown frames. The colours matched Joel’s hair, and Etho wondered if that was the reason for his signature style. Though the sight wasn’t just interesting, or fascinating to see. The bottom of Joel’s right wing was torn clean through, the wing itself hanging like ripped fabric.
“Like what you see?” Joel deadpanned.
“You know, Joel. Suddenly your antennas make a lot more sense.”
“It’s not gonna heal anyway, Etho.” Joel spat. “No point trying.”
He reached up to graze the back of his hand against the surface of the wing, “May I?”
“Sure.” Joel replied. “I don’t care anymore.”
Like Etho had expected, they were very delicate, just like the wings of butterflies in the wild. Though he had never gotten to feel the wing under his hand, actual insects were too active for that to happen.
He soon pulled away, though, seeing as there were important matters to be dealt with. Various cuts and traces of arrows lined Joel’s upper body, as well as a purplish slash below his torn wing. He couldn’t even imagine how he could have possibly gotten away with hiding all of that - or maybe it was Etho who simply ignored the pain, burying it under his own.
Etho soon got to work, getting the moss moist before applying it to the biggest wound. He could feel relief run through their soulbind, cold water pressed against the injury that had begun to grow feverish.
Soon, he ripped a dry part of the clump of moss, wrapping it tight with the wool bandage. They sat mostly in silence as Etho continued the process, and from time to time Joel cut in to complain about a wound stinging. Then he would explain that he had to, and it would soon be over. And even if Joel would probably hate to admit it - he seemed to have finally relaxed, muscles no longer tense from the leftover rush of instinct.
Eventually, he broke the silence, “Why do you keep these hidden?”
“Hm?” Joel stirred himself awake from his half-asleep state.
“They match your colour scheme, and in nature wings make you look bigger-” Joel seemed to be slightly offended at the comment of having to compensate for his height, “-not that you need it.”
“So why?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s put it this way, Etho.” He finally spoke, “Why do you wear your mask?”
Etho was not expecting the question. He instead focused on removing the iron point of an arrow from Joel’s arm, “Well… It makes people look at me less often. If they can’t see my expression, they can’t start analysing it and- staring through my soul…”
“Exactly-” Joel interrupted, “Ow!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Etho put the point away, “Continue.”
“Yeah. So you’ve got your reason. And I’ve got mine.” said Joel, beginning to fidget with his hands.
“You telling me that there is a reason doesn’t exactly make it clear, you know?” Etho inquired, standing up momentarily to grab another roll of bandages.
“I don’t like people looking at them.” His soulmate finally caved, “Just like you don’t like being looked at. They’re fragile. You saw how this stupid thing got ripped clean through when all Grian did was reel in a fishing rod? Can you imagine how exposed I’d be in battle?” He scoffed, “They make me look weak. Nobody’s scared of a blummin’ butterfly.”
“Guess that makes sense.” He shrugged.
“Have you ever, I don’t know, stepped on Ren’s tail in battle? Or Tango’s, Impulse’s- whatever. You get the point. They run crying like someone’s stabbed them. Just think about how the entire server would use a pair of big wings as thin as a piece of paper. They’d all try and cut these up before I can do anything to stop them, and the worst part is - these don’t heal while we’re still playing!” Joel threw his arms up in emphasis, completely forgetting Etho was in the middle of cleaning a cut on his arm. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just give me your arm back.” He smiled, even if it wasn’t visible.
Etho returned to his task, “Go on.”
“I just feel like hiding these is natural. I spawned in the first season with them tied to my back, so I assumed that previous, out-of-games me, if that even exists, made the choice. And it made sense in the long run.” Joel finished. “I hate how weak these make me look.”
“I don’t think having them makes you weak.” Etho took the chance to talk, still occupied with the last of Joel’s wounds, “The wings are pretty cool, actually. They match your theme.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Joel grew slightly flustered, clenching his jaw tight as his face grew warm.
“You do have a point in the whole ‘people could use that in battle’, but you’re pretty good at fighting, Joel. You’d manage.”
“Wow, Eefo.” For the first time in the last couple of hours, Joel seemed to get a spark of happiness back, “Are you complimenting me?”
“What, is that not allowed anymore?” Etho’s eyes widened while Joel was giggling to himself.
“I didn’t realise you had it down bad for me- I mean, who doesn't, but-” He teased.
“Oh, stop it.” Etho attempted to be firm, but he lost himself laughing as well. “Remember I’m the one patching you up right now. You owe me.”
“So you did want something!” Joel smirked. Etho shook his head at this man’s ridiculousness.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He finally finished tying the last of the bandages. “You should be good for now.”
“Thanks.” Joel replied.
Etho worked on putting the supplies away, and their silence returned again, this time comfortable, blossoming. He headed towards the door, turning to his soulmate one last time.
“Right, I’m gonna go resource gathering. You should get some rest.”
“Alright,” Joel shifted over to face him, “You need any help with your own injuries?”
“No, I’m gonna be okay.” Etho closed the door behind him. But just before it came to a close, Joel spoke up one last time.
“Etho.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t- Don’t tell anybody about this. About my wings. And that I just spilled my heart out to you like an idiot.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”