Chapter Text
Grian stared out the window, the silence thick like the cloud of fog that had shadowed over the city outside.
“So, this is the next game you want me to play?”
A voice formed in the darkness, the shadows thickening into an all-too familiar winged figure in the corner.
“You knew this would happen when you accepted our invitation. Do not act surprised to face the consequences of not heeding our words.”
Grian shook his head, then suddenly unsheathed his sword and whipped around, slashing at the shadow. It dispersed into the room, leaving it eerily silent once more. He turned back around, only to be met with the Watcher again.
He felt his body stiffen and looked to the glass floor, the broken portal symbol starting to form beneath him. That familiar tingle appeared in the back of his head, beckoning for him to embrace the promise he made several years ago. His reflection in the dark glass showed his wings unfurling and beginning to glow a deep, sharp violet that matched the colors now dancing in his iris.
“If this is the world you want me to help you create,”
He raised his head, blocking out the sound of violence and hatred brewing outside.
“Then you will have to stand against me in this fight.”
The figure had no face, nothing to tell of their features but that sexless voice and broken portal mask.
But even then, Grian could tell they had smiled.
Then, the Watcher lunged.
Grian was awake, clutching at his heart and feeling as if he had run a marathon.
The clock showed that it was barely five in the morning. The sun hadn’t shown a wink.
He ran his hand through his hair and shuddered.
It had felt so real this time.
It always felt too real.
Maui and Pearl jumped onto the bed, their purrs becoming the white noise of the room.
“The nightmares are getting worse.” Grian murmured, stroking Pearl’s fur.
The cat fell asleep, and the room was quiet again.
Grian shrugged out of bed and pulled on a red scarf, sweater and black sweats to shield from the winter draft breaking through the window. He brought himself to the couch, eyelids heavy and glasses barely hanging onto his face. The silence was far too heavy.
That is, until the ringing of the kitchen landline broke the silence.
He leapt over to the window and shut it, then picked up the phone right before the call went to voicemail.
A familiar voice picked up.
“Grian? GRIAN!” Mumbo shouted from the other side of the line. His voice was sharp and loud on the phone and easily jolted Grian out of his drowsy haze.
“Why are you…good morning to you too, Mumbo…” Grian muttered. “The sun isn’t even out yet. Why are you calling this early?”
“Haven’t you seen the news!? Looked outside!?”
“I haven’t seen anything other than a usual cloudy sky and quiet city.”
“Grian, the city is never quiet. Things are happening in Evo City. Just…just turn on the news, and you’ll see what I mean. And you should call your other friends as well—”
“Mumbo, you’re talking as if the end of the world is coming. Don’t worry yourself.” Grian sighed. “I’ll turn on the news and go back to sleep, if that makes you happy. At least wait for the sun to come up before you twist your mustache upside down in worry.”
Before Mumbo could shout again, Grian put the phone down, and the line went dead with a beep.
“What a guy,” Grian laughed lightly to himself.
He picked up the remote sat next to the landline and turned on the television in the living room as he started on a coffee.
The screen automatically turned onto the live news. The reporter discussed what stories would be coming next and more unimportant junk to fill the space before the commercial break. But the drone-captured scene that had shown up on the screen was all that hooked Grian’s interest.
There was a woman and a man running side by side through the street, chasing after another figure who had run into an alley around the corner. At first glance, it might seem like they were having fun, or a darker turn being that they were robbing him. Nothing out of the ordinary—there were odd people all around Evo City.
The part that caught Grian’s eye was their appearance.
The woman had coral-orange hair in two loosely done buns, with one long lock trailing down her shoulder. As her head panned to the camera, Grian caught the sight of her eyes—one being the same piercing violet as he’d seen in his nightmares, the other being a bright teal with a black sclera. The colors also appeared on her clothes, splattered like paint, black lines trailing in tendrils down one of her yellow sleeves with specks that shimmered like haunting stars.
The woman turned to the man, whose eyes had red instead of violet shimmering in his iris. He’d clearly had it rough—one of his eyes was bruised, and one of his teeth seemed to be missing. A red bandana trailed in the wind under his spiky, messy white hair. The same starry substance crept up to his elbows.
The two faced the drone, then the woman turned to the man and gestured to the alley. The man nodded and took off as the woman smiled, a vicious and haunting look. She looked up to the drone again, took a bow, and then the footage went dark. The reporter continued to ramble on about possibilities of what had just happened, practically yelling about the sudden footage cutoff.
Grian had half fallen asleep from the reporter’s frantic ramblings when something began to frantically rap on his door.
He ran to look in the peephole, finding the source of the noise.
A man held his stomach and coughed, knocking again.
“P-please,” He said quietly. His speech was broken, interrupted by his panting. “They’ll be coming back any—” He coughed heartily. “—Any minute now to finish m…me off…”
Grian sucked his breath in and opened the door, catching the man right as he fell forward. He helped the man take off his white backpack before taking in his appearance.
His blonde hair fell into his face, hanging at shoulder length over his green shirt and under a black bandana, which had been torn at the tail length. There was something familiar about the symbol on his shirt, but it had been partially covered by his bloodied hand.
The man drew his hand away to close the door as quickly and quietly as possible.
He was bleeding.
Heavily.
Grian immediately understood the weight of the situation and rushed over to help the man up. The man weakly shrugged him off.
“Close the windows and t-turn off the lights. Make it…make it look like the house is empty.” He warned.
“You’re losing a lot of blood, dude—er, sir. You’ll die by the time I come back. I can’t let you die.” Grian answered, quickly unravelling his scarf to tourniquet the man’s wound. He’d been slashed deeply with a weapon, right over his stomach and under his heart. Had the wound been an inch higher, the man would’ve been dead before even getting inside the house.
The man took the scarf and began to wrap his own wound. “Do what I said. Please.” He whispered frantically.
Grian looked at him, still shaken and confused, then rushed to his windows. He closed the blinds and shut off the lamps and television, then grabbed his phone from the counter and turned the flashlight on dimly.
The man coughed again, but had successfully wrapped the wound. His breathing had stabilized unnaturally fast.
“Do not call an ambulance. I’ve contacted my own help. They’ll know how to find me later without causing too much of a ruckus.”
“What happened to you?” Grian whispered.
“You had the news on.” The guest noted. “You already saw Gem and Bdubs, didn’t you?”
“The two creepy looking weirdos chasing after the guy on the street?” Grian suggested, his hand on his chin.
“Yes, those two! Who else would I be talking about!?” The stranger hissed. “Gem is a popstar, lead singer of Gem and the Scotts. She was acting weird this morning, when a friend invited me down to the studio. Not…herself. I left the studio early before getting a call from Scott that she…” He shuddered. “She killed someone.”
Grian sucked in a breath, his mind going back to that piercing purple in the two’s eyes. That violet in his nightmares, that broken portal.
“Something else on your mind? This must be a lot for you to take in.” The man commented. “I take it that you wouldn’t want to tell me, given you haven’t already. Maybe we should start with some…er…friendly introductions? To lighten the mood a little bit?”
Grian was astonished how easily the stranger was willing to go about a “friendly introduction” despite the fact that he was actively bleeding from a slash wound by the front door and waiting for anonymous assistance. But he agreed anyway, if it would get both of them off the minds of the chaos.
“Well, I’m Martyn. I could tell you recognized me when you first saw—I’ve been on TV before with The Big Dogs.” He said, leaning in a makeshift bow, then wincing from the wound.
Grian smirked a bit at Martyn’s theatrical whimsy. “Pleasure to meet you, Martyn.” He grinned, though the look was nothing but a mask for his sheer nervousness that whoever had done this to Martyn would be coming back soon to finish the action. “I’m Grian. And I can tell that you’ve never once seen me before. I’m just…a guy.” He said sheepishly.
Martyn winced again, then smiled weakly. “Have you called your friends yet? Made sure they’re okay?”
Grian thought for a moment, recalling the same ask from Mumbo earlier. Then he rushed to the phone and dialed a number. Etho’s voice quickly picked up.
“This is Etho’s Evo One-Stop Shop, home to Shade-E Rockets! You bring the diamond-power, we bring the firepower–”
“Etho! It’s me, not a customer! Enough with the cheesy motto!” Grian barked.
“Grian! Is there uh…something you want to buy anyway?” Something fell on the other line, landing with a muffled crash, and Etho muttered something under his breath.
“No, I wanted to warn you—are there things falling off the shelves? After your ‘foolproof stocking method’ was supposed to make sure nothing ever fell?” Grian questioned in disbelief.
“Yeah, there was some weird explosion a bit ago that rustled everything around. Not to mention the store shaking every now and then.” Etho replied, his tone a bit bitter. He’d been ridiculed by Grian about his organization skills too often for his liking.
Grian shook his head, waving off the thought of nagging Etho more about the shelving matter. “There’s more important things at hand than your less-than-satisfactory organization skills. Pass on what I’m telling you. If there’s a place you can hide at the shop, go there. I know it’s still early, but you need to lock up.”
Etho was silent for a moment. “Grian, what the heck are you—”
Grian didn’t let him finish. “I’ll call Scar later on as well. But you need to stay put. I’ll come by whenever I can.”
Etho was silent on the other side of the line. Then he sighed. “Why are you acting so—”
Before he could finish, the line suddenly cut off and went dead.
Grian scoffed and picked up the landline again, but the phone wouldn’t turn on. The display was blank.
The landline wasn’t working.
“Hey, Grian?” Martyn called from the front hall. “We have a bit of a pest problem.”
He gestured to the window, where a group of silhouettes had formed in front of the blinds.
There were people outside.
And they were banging on his window.
Grian sighed and began to head to his room.
Martyn looked back and forth from Grian to the window in disbelief. “You’re not going to do anything!?”
Grian was already halfway down the hall.
Martyn scoffed and reached in his bag, pulling out a small bottle of liquid. The red, shimmering liquid swirled inside the vial, and Martyn stared at it hesitantly. Then he downed the entire liquid. The substance was one of the last he had in stock, but with his only other possible defense now gone, desperate times called for desperate measures. He felt the wound under his tourniquet begin to quickly heal from the elixir’s effects.
“We know you’re in there, Martyn~!” Gem’s muffled voice sang from outside. “You wouldn’t make me desecrate a poor citizen’s house to get you, would you?”
Martyn stayed silent, digging through his bag.
“There’s fresh blood on you, Martyn. Don’t you want to give in to that crazy side and just have a little fun?” Gem quipped.
Martyn stared at the door, then inched to the peephole, only to find it covered with the starry, teal-and-black sculk that he’d watched take over the popstar throughout the past week. A noise echoed outside, the haunting sound of muffled voices surrounding the small, wooden house.
“Martyn,” The woman snarled, her voice molding into something more menacing. “Come outside. It’s a losing battle for you. It’s only a matter of time before the Curse takes over the city—”
Martyn threw the door open, plunging a sword straight towards her voice. His eyes widened, realizing the sword had hit thin air rather than a person.
“Missed me, Martyn.”
Gem appeared behind him, forming in the sculk that had fallen away from the door. She quickly slashed at Martyn as he opened his shield just a second before the sword would’ve collided with his body. He drew back his own sword and threw it towards her as she pulled hers forward again.
“This house isn’t yours. Anyone else home?” Gem inquired in that sing-song voice, cocking her head to the side like a curious puppy.
“It’s abandoned. Nobody but me.” Martyn answered. He suddenly pushed his sword back with all his might, causing Gem to stumble back. Her violet eye flared as she shouted in frustration.
“Impulse! Bdubs!” Gem barked, turning Martyn and giving a sickening smile. “Search the house.”
Impulse’s familiar face emerged from behind the house and to the door. He still looked the same as he did the evening before, when he’d been talking to Scott before their show—the black ripped, sleeveless leather jacket, the bright yellow lighting makeup adorning his face, his brown hair tousled to the side. But similarly to Bdubs, his eyes were a bright red instead of brown.
He gave a glance to Martyn, then turned to the door again.
Martyn opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted with a sudden boom.
Grian threw the door open and tossed a device out. The device instantly exploded into a smokescreen. Gem stumbled back as he rushed to Martyn and grabbed him, then took off.
He’d donned a brown harness over his sweater, and had black pants tucked into black combat boots. The harness rested above two scarlet macaw wings. The colors matched the smaller ones in his hair, right above his ears and under a pair of goggles. A heavy duty backpack with the embroidered designs of purple and red flowers hung off his shoulders.
Martyn gaped in awe at the battle-ready outfit. Then he looked down and nearly lost his lunch from yesterday.
“Grian,” Martyn started cautiously. “Why are we flying?”
“What? You didn’t think these wings were just for show, did you?” Grian replied, surprised and confused, as if stating the most obvious thing imaginable.
Martyn rolled his eyes, looking down again. The sun had just started to rise, and it finally set in that the day had barely begun and the city was already dealing with an absolutely unpredictable disaster. The wind whistled past the two as Grian soared them past the neighborhood.
“They lit your house on fire.” Martyn sighed, looking back.
“Eh,” Grian muttered. “It’s happened before. I made arrangements for the cats to get out safely before we left.”
Martyn’s eyes widened. “You’ve gone through this before?”
“I have full working wings and a smoke screen bomb, and you think I’m just some normal person who's never been through anything odd?” Grian scoffed, using that same ‘captain obvious’ tone as before. “And what about you? I’ve never heard of a showman that carries a sword and magical healing potions around.”
Martyn’s eyes shot up to Grian’s. “You saw the potion?”
“Yes, I saw the potion! You took it out half a second after I started walking away!” Grian shouted back.
Grian took a sharp, sudden turn to the left and dived downwards, folding the wings in slightly. Martyn flinched from the wind and turned to the side, jumping out of Grian’s grip right as he landed. Grian turned to the side and reached into his backpack, bringing out an apple.
“That was quite the flight,” Martyn muttered, brushing his hair out of his face. “So, do we want to both finally talk about who we are?”
“Mm? Yeah? And who exactly ‘are we?’” Grian replied innocently, his mouth full of white and red mush.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Grian. You have wings you can just hide and smoke bombs, and I carry around a sword and healing potions. We aren’t normal citizens of Evo, and you know that.” He urged. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled, readying himself to admit.
“I’m a criminal. A little while ago, I went what the city council calls ‘Red.’ I’m sure you know what that means.”
Grian nodded, knowing the term all too well. Reds were people who the city officials declared as the most dangerous and uncontrollable citizens. A Red was usually labeled after some terrible incident left them disoriented and vengeful, and if the person had the supplies to carry out their vengeance. Not bad enough to be convicted, but enough to be wary of. Other citizens tended to stay well away from Reds in terror that they might have been the one to piss someone off into being labeled as one. It was more of a paranoid, unfair warning saying, ‘This person was wronged one time and might be violent because they want revenge. Stay away from them.’
Martyn nodded back. “Truthfully, I was wronged. Plenty of times. But I’ll only kill if it’s what I need to do to survive. We all make mistakes, but we don’t deserve to die for them. I’ve made the mistake before of taking a life that didn’t deserve it due to…external force.” He muttered the last part, then reached under his shirt and brought out a necklace with a pufferfish-shaped pendant. He opened it and angled it ever so slightly to Grian, revealing a picture of him and another man posing, the other man’s features washed out save for a head of wavy, light blue hair in a short updo.
Grian stood lost in thought for a moment. “We aren’t very different. I’m not a Red, but I’ve been through what you’ve experienced. I…work with a confidential part of the government. One I can’t share a lot of—”
Suddenly, his mind shot to visions of those tall winged shadows, thousands of glowing violet eyes resting on him as he looked up, finding those wings on his head now part of him, dark and streaked with purple and forcing him to watch as his friends suffered, died by a game he had been forced to create—
“Grian? Are you alright?”
Martyn’s voice rang through Grian like a bullet.
Grian looked down, realizing he’d dropped into a crouch, clutching his heart.
Martyn’s shadow towered over him, winged and glowing with gold and emerald swirls.
Grian whipped around and slammed his fist into Martyn.
Martyn stumbled back and shouted, holding his arm. He shook his head and looked at Grian in disbelief and confusion. No wings, no gold and green glow. Just a confused man in a green T-shirt and sandals.
“...what the hell was that!? You hit so much harder than you look!” Martyn yelled.
“I thought…” Grian looked down at his fist, holding his wrist as if it would punch Martyn again without his control. “I’m sorry.”
Martyn looked him up and down suspiciously. “Yeah…It’s alright. Let’s just…head inside, I suppose.”
Grian nodded and looked up. A cherry wood building rested in front of them, hearts carved into the wooden pillars under the illuminated sign at the top.
The Heart Foundation.