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Blood, Grian choked back a sob. So much blood.
It stained the sand, it stained his clothes, it stained Grian’s knuckles bright red.
He swore, didn’t he? Grian swore that Scar’s blood would never end up on his hands again. That they’d protect each other, work together to survive as long as possible, monopolize the sand and take over the desert in doing so.
So why was he hunched over Scar’s dead body?
Scar, his once partner in crime, now lay lifeless beneath Grian. Blood pooled from his mouth, bleeding deep into the sand around him, no doubt. His eyes looked up at the big blue sky, but they were void of light. The sparkle they’d once had was lost to the embrace of death.
It made Grian sick.
He’d promised Scar a double victory, an end to the game with both of them as the winners, but Grian knew it couldn’t happen. They wouldn’t let it happen.
Fists battered and bruised, Grian had won. He was the winner of Third Life. Of the death game the Watchers made him and all his friends play for their sick entertainment.
The game that ended with him killing his closest ally.
Of course, the Watchers wouldn’t allow a double victory. They’ve always wanted more. More chaos, more drama, more violence. They built a cactus ring, stripped Scar and Grian of their possessions, and egged on a fight to the death. A fight to the death between the two that had been together for the entire game.
The ultimate betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” Grian had said, but actions spoke louder than words. Punches hurt more than apologies. And Scar wasn’t even trying.
“Grian,” Scar called out with his dying breath. Tears poured from Grian’s face, watching Scar’s chest heave as he coughed up copious amounts of blood while could do nothing but watch. Watch as the light slowly leaves his eyes.
Despite everything, Scar smiled. He looked at Grian like he always did, and used the last of his strength to cup Grian’s face and wipe away a stray tear.
“It’s okay.”
Barely a whisper, then he was gone. His body fell limp, his eyes dulled, and everything that was once Scar was Scar no more. His bright emerald eyes, his annoyingly charming smile, his warm sun-kissed skin. With his death, everything dulled. Everything except the blood that stained all that was left of Grian.
There was only ever gonna be one winner, he knew this from the start. They all did.
So why did it hurt so badly?
He looked into Scar’s cold eyes, wincing at their emptiness before closing them with his hand. Grian stood up from the ground, not bothering to wipe the blood off his knuckles, and stared up at the sky where Scar’s eyes once looked.
The blazing sun stung, but he wondered if Scar was up there watching him. If all his friends had watched him kill his closest ally in cold blood. But they weren’t the only ones watching.
“Are you happy now?” Grian shouted, “I won. Just like you wanted.”
The sun and sky stared back at him blankly. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them. Feel their eyes watching him, finding amusement in his grief. Celebrating their “successful” game. Grian knew their antics, this wasn’t going to be the last fucked up death game they’d be forced to play. And Grian was powerless to stop that fact.
He could only grit his teeth in anger, feel his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his fist in rage. Finally, he turned away from the sky and looked back at Scar.
Grian couldn’t leave him like that.
He tore down the cactus ring and tossed all its bits and pieces into the closest lava pool, leaving Scar lying in the sand. When Grian returned from burning everything, Scar looked even more pale. Disturbingly so.
It wasn’t an easy task, but Grian eventually managed to haul Scar over to Pizza’s grave. He couldn’t stop the Watchers and their antics, but he could at least give his friend a proper burial.
He dug a hole, one big enough to fit Scar’s large frame, then gently lowered his body into it. Grian moved his hands so they lay atop each other on his belly. As the finishing touch, he used his poncho to wipe off the blood trickling down Scar’s cheek.
Scar looked peaceful now. As if he were just asleep and not dead. But Grian knew better than to think like that.
Grian took one last look at Scar, eyes scanning every detail of his face as if to memorize them, before starting to shovel the sand back into the hole.
Grian knew what came after winning, but not what came after a red life. For all he knew, this could be the last time he’d ever see Scar. The last time he’d ever see the light of day.
Once the grave was filled, there was only one thing left to do.
Here lies Scar Goodtimes
My closest friend
Grian looked at the newly placed tombstone. Scar buried next to his beloved pet, it felt right. Grian was content, as content as he could get, anyway.
He was finally ready for the next thing that came with being a winner, but not before one last visit to their castle. The home that protected them from all that prowls the desert at night.
He hiked up Monopoly Mountain, taking his sweet time as he admired what they’d created during their time together. Entering their castle, the familiar smell greeted him. It felt almost therapeutic, looking through each chest, thinking fondly of all the memories.
The bed they’d spent nights keeping each other warm, the horrendous storage they never cared to sort out, the rooftop where they spent day and night watching for any enemies.
As Grian pulled himself up on the final ladder rung, a warm, sandy breeze that felt awfully like Scar greeted him. Maybe he was watching, maybe it was Grian’s wishful thinking; he could only hope.
The rooftop really was a great vantage point. Its view spanned across the whole desert, all sand and cacti that they’d claimed to be theirs.
“Whatever the light touches is ours,” Scar had said to Grian once before. It couldn’t be all the more true, seeing as it was only Grian left alive. With no one left to fight him for it, it was all truly his.
His. Not “ours”.
The desert felt different. It felt quiet, empty, void of life. Like it’d died along with Scar. Maybe it had.
It was waiting. And so were they.
Grian closed his eyes, taking in the smell of sandy air. The smell of Scar when he’d tuck his head by his neck for body heat.
He stepped up to the ledge, tucked his wings, and let gravity do the rest.
Except it didn’t. A strong gust of wind blew his way, and Grian went stumbling backwards, landing hard on his bum. It wasn’t just any gust of wind; it was sandy. The same one that smelled awfully like Scar, the same one that felt awfully like Scar.
Grian hastily looked around, but it was only him up there. It was only him left on the entire server. But still, the sandy breeze swirled around him continuously.
Is Scar trying to tell me something?
He got up from his bum and started looking around properly this time; there had to be something he was missing. There! Grian spotted a small pile of sand in the corner of the rooftop. He squabbled over, using his hands to brush the sand off to reveal… a book?
A book, placed in an item frame, of all things. Grian prayed to void that it wasn’t what he thought it was. He dusted the sand off it as he picked it up. It read:
From me to you
Signed by Scar Goodtimes
Grian had to double-take. He was expecting something like a suicide note, so his prayer to void worked. In a way. But that didn’t make him any less concerned.
To my dearest Grian,
If you are reading this, I am dead. Meaning you won Third Life—congratulations!
Please celebrate your victory. Do not wallow in my death. It was always going to happen, we both knew that.
That aside, you must be wondering why I left this book for you. Maybe even wondering when I had the time to write this. But that, my friend, is a secret. Anyway, I left this book because I have some things to say to you.
Thank you. For everything, really.
Thank you for blowing me up with that creeper. It cost me my first life, but it led to you joining me in the desert and being my partner in all my shenanigans. It led to Monopoly Mountain, our castle, Pizza, and all the happy memories I made with you in this horrible death game. And I wouldn’t trade the world for that.
Thank you for keeping me warm at night, even if it cost you the comfort of having your own bed.
Thank you for staying, even after you lost your first life. This is a little embarrassing, but I was seriously worrying about what would happen once you left. The desert is too lonely for just one person.
And, finally, thank you for taking me to the end. It was a hard battle, we did what we had to do, but we made it. Even though we couldn’t win together. Even though it had to end like that.
I know you’re mad at me for “letting” you win, but truly, you deserved it more than I did. When it comes down to it, I’d rather die by your hands than anyone else’s. And anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to kill you after everything you’ve done for me.
Giving up my life is the most I can do to repay you, and I hope you understand that fact and not hate me for it.
This isn’t the ending you wanted, this isn’t the ending anyone wanted, really. But it’s the one you deserve. Don’t let my efforts go in vain, or however the saying goes. Okay?
There’s more that I want to say, but it’s better if I tell you in person. Let’s talk once this all blows over, yeah?
Sincerely Yours,
Scar
Oh, Scar, a single tear fell onto the final page of the book. How could I ever hate you?
The sand was seriously getting into Grian’s eyes. Made them all blurry and tear-filled. Still, despite his poor vision, Grian saw that there was one page left. But the closing and signature were already there, so why…?
Grian took a deep breath, calming his over-breathing from cr— from the sand getting in his eyes, then turned the page. Pressed between the pages was a poppy and a lilac, and a single sentence that read:
You know what to do.
With an arrow pointing to a few seeds tucked into the book's hinge, somehow, Grian did know what to do. He carefully closed the book, making sure no flower nor seed fell out, before jumping off the rooftop.
He glided down slowly, landing just by Pizza and Scar’s grave. He shook out the seeds from the book, got a fair amount of dirt, and started planting them on top of where Scar lay.
Grian debated taking out the pressed ones and propping them up by Scar’s tombstone, but decided against it in the end. He planned to take his book with him once he died, wherever that brought him. Maybe even keep it as a sort of tribute to Monopoly Mountain and him and Scar’s friendship.
The flowers grew slowly. He could’ve used bonemeal, but he didn’t. Grian wanted their roots to spread naturally, to reach down deep enough to Scar. He didn’t mind waiting.
Grian slept every night, in his own bed, under his own wings.
Alone.
Without his warmth, without his steady breathing, without his large frame taking up the majority of the bed, everything felt wrong.
It felt lonely, cold, unnatural. The bed too big, the howling winds too loud, the air too cold.
Scar was right; the desert is too lonely for just one person.
Grian missed him.
Days turned into weeks, maybe months; frankly, he lost count of how much time had passed. Of how many nights he spent alone, shivering from the cold, tossing and turning from the loud silence. Of how many times he’d woken up in a cold sweat, tears running down his cheeks while his vision blurred red.
But soon, the flowers bloomed into their respective reds and purples. It was a proper bush of poppies and lilacs, the flowers Grian was most fond of. Vibrant and full of life, just like Scar was during their time together.
“Can we still be friends?” Scar had asked him that time. He’d just become a red name, the first one of the game, at that. But Grian didn’t care. He never did. He knew Scar would never hurt him. Even until the very end, Scar couldn’t bring himself to fight back.
But now it was Grian’s turn to ask him the same question, if he still had the chance to.
The flowers swayed in the sandy wind, but it felt different. Wasn’t the same one that pushed him on the rooftop; he hadn’t felt him since that time. Perhaps he got tired of watching. Waiting for Grian to come home.
All the more reason he had to get this over with.
As if to say goodbye, Grian held the bunch of flowers in his arms. Burying his face into them, taking in their mingling smells. The poppies smelled earthy and dry, while the lilacs smelled sweet, floral, and intoxicating.
Together, they smelled bittersweet. Together, they smelled like Scar, in their own funky way.
He stayed like that till his head started to hurt from their intensely mixed scents; only then did he know that it was time. He stepped away from the graves, lips tugging at a smile as he approached the cliff.
Book in hand, he tucked his wings and gave way to gravity. This time, there was no gust of sandy wind to stop him. No water to catch his fall.
Only the floaty feeling in his stomach, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the wind howling in his ears, before his world turned black.
Grian awoke. Not in a bed, but in a dark room. The first thing he noticed was that he was still holding the book, pressed close against his chest. At least he had that.
Hello? He tried to speak, but only silence filled the room. Hello? Can anyone hear me? Nothing would come out.
Something wasn’t right. The dark room, the defeating silence, it felt all too familiar.
Then it clicked.
Grian turned around, and lo and behold, the statue stared right back at him. The same one he’d seen the last time he was here, which was years ago. A stone formed in the shape of a Watcher’s head, overgrown with vines and moss. The symbol in the middle glowed purple, and a voice spoke.
Welcome home, it said, but only in Grian’s mind. Xelqua.
The mention of the name sent shivers down his spine; his name. Xelqua. He hadn’t been called that in years. And he liked it better that way.
Why have you brought me here? Grian asked, grip tightening on the book in his hands. Haven’t you done enough?
Enough? We’re just getting started, Grian could practically hear its smile through its voice. Did you enjoy our little game?
Enjoy? In what sick and twisted world would that be enjoyable? Grian sneered. For you crazy lot, maybe.
The voice in his head laughed, deep and bellowing. Still have that feisty attitude we all know and love. You haven’t changed at all, Xelqua.
Don’t call me that.
Why not? Isn’t that your name?
My name is Grian.
We both know it’s not.
Grian stayed silent despite the anger boiling beneath his skin. Even he could see that they were doing this to provoke him. To get a reaction out of him for their own sick entertainment, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.
Giving us the silent treatment? That isn’t going to get you out of here, you know.
Oh yeah? Grian snapped. So what is? More chaos? Another civil war? He scoffed, Don’t kid me.
All you have to do is ask.
Now that sounded too good to be true. They always wanted more; something like that with no strings attached would be unorthodox. A blatant trap.
What’s the catch?
The Watchers laughed once more, this time mockingly and full of genuine glee, which was never a good sign. Let’s just say there'll be a surprise waiting for you there.
Grian’s stomach dropped; he did his best not to show it on his face. But the Watchers probably saw through his act anyway. You know I hate surprises.
Just say the word and we’ll bring you back.
Seems like the surprises were staying, which wasn’t great, but he supposed it was better than being trapped in what was essentially the void for the rest of eternity. He’d just have to hope it wasn’t anything too crazy, but knowing them, it probably was.
Bring me back to Hermitcraft.
A beat of silence. What’s the magic word?
These Watchers were still as immature as Grian remembered; he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Please.
Remember, you asked for it. Purple particles began to swarm Grian’s body. He caught a glimpse of the statue before he was poofed back home.
Have fun, they said. We’ll be watching.
Grian awoke. This time in a bed, in the Barge! And, still pressed tightly against his chest, was the book. With this, there was no time to dwell on what the Watchers said. Grian knew what he had to do.
He took off through the Barge’s open ceiling, b-lining it for the nether portal. Chances were that Scar was at his base, working away at some new crazy build. If not, then he’d keep looking. Anything to get the warm, fuzzy feeling out of his chest.
With rockets, it didn’t take long. “Scar!” Grian shouted, walking through the fairy wonderland that was Scar’s base. “Where are you? We need to talk!”
“Talk about what?” a voice behind him had him nearly jumping out of his skin.
He whipped around, and there was Scar. Back in his elven glory, with that stupid smirk on his face.
“S-Scar! I was just looking for you,” Grian exclaimed, hands sweaty and clammy all of a sudden. He’d rehearsed everything in his head a million times; now wasn’t the time to be getting nervous.
“Yeah, I heard.” Scar laughed at his own joke. It felt like a treat to hear him laugh after being alone for nearly a month. “Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”
Odd. Grian assumed Scar would know right away, considering that last line he’d written in the book. But Scar was a forgetful guy, he thought while ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.
“This!” Grian gestured to the signed book in his hands. Scar raised a brow, but said nothing. So Grian continued, “The book you gave me in Third Life.”
Scar tilted his head like a puppy, “Third Life? Oh yeah!” he snapped his fingers, then patted Grian firmly on the back. “Congratulations! You won, right?”
“No—Scar,” the pit in Grian’s stomach grew deeper. “Third Life, we were in the desert together. Don’t you remember?”
The elf shook his head after a moment of thought, “No…? Am I supposed to? All I remember is that you won, though I don’t remember how…”
The Watcher’s words played back in Grian’s mind. A surprise, they’d said.
Grian hated surprises.
Tears brimmed his eyes as he turned away from Scar, afraid to meet those endearing emerald eyes he’d missed so much. The same endearing emerald eyes that looked at him with such confusion that it had to be true.
He didn’t remember. Monopoly Mountain, Pizza, their castle, poppies and lilacs, the cactus ring, all memories lost to the void. All memories only Grian would shoulder the burden of carrying.
That was their surprise. Grian’s “prize” for winning Third Life. Having the memories of what he’d done haunt him.
Having his closest friend forget everything.
Grian clutched the book tighter, so tight that his knuckles had turned white. “N-Never mind,” he bit his lip to muffle the sobs threatening to spill out. “I’ll leave.”
This is for the best, he told himself while he walked away, leaving Scar while he still could. This way, he won’t remember what I did. Blood trickled from his lips. We can go back to how things were before Third Life.
“Grian!” He felt a hand land on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”
A spark of hope.
“For what?” Grian stopped walking, heart pounding. Maybe… just maybe…
“I’m sorry if I said something wrong, i-if I made you uncomfortable—“
Oh.
Grian shook off Scar’s hand and continued walking. “It’s not your fault, Scar.” He said without turning back, he couldn’t bear to.
“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seemed kinda—“
“Trust me,” Grian paused and stole a glance over his shoulder. Scar looked devastated. Eyebrows knitted tightly together, eyes filled with sympathy and remorse, hand still reaching out to Grian, it was too much. He wanted so badly to grab his hand and crawl into his arms, but he knew better than to do that.
“It’s not you. It’s me.” Barely a mumble, then Grian took off.
He hoped that if he flew fast enough it would dry his tears. He hoped that the sound of the rockets would drown out the sounds of his broken sobs. He hoped that Scar wasn’t following him, cause that’d be embarrassing. But he didn’t bother looking back. What good would that do?
Instead, he looked up. More like glared, teeth gritted while he cursed them out silently. They were watching, Grian could feel it. Since he’d woken up in the Barge, they’d been following along, knowing what would happen. Just waiting for Grian to discover their surprise, and they got what they wanted.
They provoked him. Got a reaction out of him. They got their satisfaction. Grian just had to accept he wasn’t ever going to get his.
He landed in his base, found the nearest ender chest, and tossed the book inside. No one last look, no showing it to Scar to try and jog his memory, he knew all his efforts would be in vain. Might as well keep it as a tribute to Monopoly Mountain and him and Scar’s friendship.
They were still friends, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be his Scar, but it’s okay.
He deserved this.