Chapter Text
- MARTYN -
PAST LIFE
“IT HAS HAPPENED AGAIN.”
“SOMETHING IS WRONG.”
“WE SHOULD HAVE WATCHED CLOSER.”
“THEY ARE REALIZING.”
“PUNISH IT, WE WILL NEED TO WATCH THEM CLOSER.”
“WE CANNOT INTERFERE TOO SEVERELY WITH THE EAVESDROPPERS. WE MUST NOT BE TOO-"
“CLOAK HIS EARS.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“. . .WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Martyn returned to awareness quite violently. Frantically looking around he noticed he was back in limited life. Water lapped at his legs as he sat in the shallow pool.
It didn't work. . . ?
why was he still here? Something was supposed to change. They had clarity for once in Past Life. THEY were not watching them as heavily. As closely. His mind started to go foggy, getting overwhelmed with too many angry thoughts as he slammed his fist on the ground and let out a loud, frustrated scream.
Wait. . .
Time seemed to stop around him, his anger quickly left him, a deep fear taking its place. He sat back up and let out another scream louder than the last one.
No. . .
He screamed again and again, going louder and louder. He kept going even when his throat started hurting. He only stopped when the pain overtook the panic, when he was hurtled into a coughing fit that he couldn’t even hear. His hand came to his mouth as the coughing didn't stop, even as his hand was sprinkled in a sickening, familiar red. He remembered that shade well, his hands had been coated in it. He crouched down, grabbing the sides of his head with a fury born of sheer, instinctual fear, gripping the front of Cleo's sweater tightly as he fell to the floor with a soundless thud. He curled into a fetal position, foreign words in his head saying that it was a good defensive pose, protecting his vital organs.
Why couldn't he hear his own screams. . .
- SCOTT -
SIMPLE LIFE
“THE STARBLESSED WON AGAIN."
“IT IS A DANGER TO OUR PLANS."
“IT NEEDS TO BE REMOVED."
“HOLD YOUR TEMPER, ONE. THERE ARE BETTER WAYS TO DEAL WITH IT."
“. . .FINE.”
Scott came to with a loud scream. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He brought his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly, as if to make himself smaller. His tail curled around his hoof, hands gripping his hair tightly, painfully. He laid there in a miserable mess on the floor, tears he didn’t even know were rolling down his cheeks slowing to a stop when he felt something small gently poke at his back.
He tried to lift his head to see what it was, but even that caused lightning to strike through his body. Through the audible rushing of blood in his ears, he heard some painfully distressed-sounding chirps. The thing moved in front of him and gently nudged his hand.
Scott reopened his eyes, wincing as light flooded his sensitive eyes. He blinked away a shot of pain into his skull, waiting a painfully long time for his eyes to clear of the blur. He eventually managed to see through tear-crusted eyes to behind what had touched his back. In front of him was a disheveled little canary with a collar around its neck.
“. . . .Jimmy..?” The canary chirped loudly at the name, causing the unicorn-hybrid to wince. The wince seemed to concern the bird, making Scott wish he could muster a laugh from his aching lungs, but just managing to say his friend’s name had taken a lot out of him. His feathers fluffing up and wings flapping lightly.
“It's okay, it's okay. I'm- I’m okay. .” Scott managed to wheeze out, lifting a shaking hand to gently pet Jimmy’s feathers with a delicate finger. He couldn't tell if the notion was intended to reassure the bird or himself. Smiling weakly as Jimmy nudged his hand and moved closer, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. That smile quickly dropped from Scott's face as he noted the faint string tied dangerously tight around his wrist. So winning twice didn’t change anything after all. He sighed and started gently petting Jimmy again, finding comfort in the motion as his mind wandered to the fact that he was still trapped. The suffocating hopelessness creeped in again, like sand slowly filling a coffin he couldn’t hope to climb out of.
A sudden realization came over him, not moving his head, he stopped petting the Canary to nudge him.
“How am I still awake? Did- did you give me a heart?” he could feel Jimmy tilt his head against his hand.
“Ah, it doesn't matter. Thanks for your comfort.” Scott absentmindedly resumed his petting. While lying there, he finally noticed the wetness beneath his head. He could also feel something rolling down his face, too high to be the tears from before. With a confused noise, he shakily lifted a hand to his head, his whole body freezing as he felt something wet and sticky on his face and in his hair.
Please, please no-
Pulling his hand away only confirmed his fears. Jimmy's worried chirping faded into the background as he saw the blood drip off his hand, the sound that was once comforting turned to white noise as panicked and pained static filled his head.
It was gone.
No stump, no revenant, it wasn’t broken off. It was just-
Gone.
“. . .”
Letting his hand fall back, now sickly wet, he curled back up, impossibly tighter than before. Ignoring the startled squawk Jimmy made from the sudden movement, he pulled him to be against his chest. It took a minute for Jimmy to settle down, noticing his close friend’s tremors returning. Not sure what to do, the canary rests his head against the side of his face. A quiet voice whispering out one final plea to the bird.
“Can you stay a little longer..?”
- JOEL -
WILD LIFE
“. . . . . . IM AFRAID OF THE PINK ONE.”
“DO NOT BE SO WORRIED. YOU FORGET WHAT YOU ARE.”
“I FORGET NOTHING. SHE HAS. . . AN ENERGY, ABOUT HER.”
“IT IS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. IT STILL SLUMBERS.”
“WHAT IF IT AWAKENS?”
“…THEN PUT IT BACK TO SLEEP. OR SEND THE WILD ONE AFTER IT. IT CANNOT HURT ITS. . . ATTACHED.”
Suffice to say, when Joel awoke among a pile of broken bamboo chutes and petals that are the color of ******—
. . .
Suffice to say, when Joel awoke among a random assortment of foliage, he was very, very confused. Blinking a few times, he pushed his bangs up and away from his face. Since when did his hair grow long enough to cover his eyes? Taking stock of his surroundings, he noticed that he was still on the remains of the Bambozlers mountain. His eyes wandered over to the destroyed bird statues that once overlooked the base. Shocked to see that the brown and blue one seemed to stay mildly intact. But the ******-
. . .
The mountain, surprisingly, wasn't too badly damaged from all the fighting. With a sigh, he looked down at the floor. All his previous energy that had surged in him as he saw… someone, he’s not sure who, fall to their death, seems to completely vanish. That's when he noticed something felt off. Since when did he change his clothing? Gently tugging on the collar of the jacket, he blinked a few times as he was momentarily blinded by something shining in the light of the raised sun. Joel lowered his arm, freezing as he finally paid attention to its appearance.
Why is it made out of metal?? Lifting his other arm up, he found it was in a similar state. Both appeared robot-like with some red lighting streaking through it. His eyes widened as he started to frantically check his body. Panicking even more to find his legs and the left side of his chest in the same state.
What happened to his limbs?! What happened to his heart?? His antenna drooped down and his tail fur poofed up. What was going on??
His panicking was interrupted by a beeping noise, he slowly looked down at where it was coming from. Seeing the familiar device still strapped to his waist made his breath stop. He watched as it beeped a few times before the dice started rolling.
No
No
NO!
How is it still going?? The game is finished, he’d won! It was supposed to be over!! He was meant to be free now!
Joel was breathing concerningly fast, his nerves firing too often. There was too much, too much stimuli and not enough. He was so caught up in his panic that he hadn’t noticed a clumsy bat landing on a nearby branch.
With shaking limbs, he grabbed the machine, ripped it off the belt, and threw it as far as possible. He stared at it for a few moments, his breaths seeming to start calming down. He took a few deep breaths. He needed that dreaded set of dice as far away from him as possible.
“Everythings fine, Joel, everythings okay,” his left eye twitched as he felt his belt get a familiar weight back on it. Slowly looking back down, he let out a frustrated growl at seeing the still spinning dice. How?! He'd thrown it away, why did it come back?!
He just wanted to be free, but the dice just kept rolling, and he couldn't stop them.
With a noise of defeat, he slumps over, hand subconsciously reaching for the rings held on a thick metal chain around his neck. Feeling them, the familiar weight of the two bands around the chain eased him as they always did. He still has his rings, oh thank the void he still has the rings-
Wait, why would he have rings. .?
Something's missing
Someone's missing
Where is ******
. . .
. . .
. . .
[SYSTEM REBOOT]
[A WILD CARD HAS BEEN ACTIVATED!!]
A grin split like a crack in a rock wall across Joel's face. He pulled an umbrella out of seemingly nowhere and opened it, resting the handle against his shoulder in a flurry of smooth movements.
“Ah, isn't it a glorious day!! Right Mumbo!!” The fluffy bat flinched violently and almost fell from his perch on the tree branch nearby. The smile on Joel's face felt off, it was too wide, too forced looking. It unnerved Mumbo, though he was slightly more concerned over his friend's mood swings.
“Good idea!! Let's go check on the car!!” Mumbo's head spun with how fast Joel was swinging, the roll he was on. Plus, he hadn't even said anything. How could he? Bats can’t speak.
With a confused squeak, he pulled his wings tighter against him, wanting to hide away from the estranged man. He was broken out of his thoughts by a loud high-pitched scream. Watching as Joel jumped and quickly ran away from what appeared to be a snail—
[—SMALLISHBEANS was slain by Slimeishbeans—]
…Maybe there can be some amusement in this horrible place.
He also promised Lizzie that he would watch over Joel for her, and he intended to keep that promise.
- CLEO -
REAL LIFE
“THIS ONE WAS… RATHER DISAPPOINTING.”
“BORING, YOU MEAN. DO WE EVEN REWARD THEM?”
“IT IS NOT WORTH OUR TIME.”
Cleo's eyes snapped open with a gasp, hands shooting towards her head and neck as she quickly sat up from her bed. She let out a breath of relief at feeling nothing else on her head except for the flowers that normally adorn her.
Wait. . what else would be there?
Cleo shook her head to clear the minor nausea and slowly brought her hands down. Why did it feel like she had just run a marathon, fought a ravager, lost miserably, and-
While she racked her brain as to what she had done in the last few hours, her bedroom door was tossed open, making her swiftly look up to check who had, rather rudely, decided to intrude into her room. Standing in the doorway was a disheveled-looking Joe Hills, who almost immediately tackled her, wrapping his arms around her waist with a confusing amount of desperation.
“Joe. .?” Cleo hesitated before awkwardly hugging her friend back. She could feel her shirt slowly getting wet from where Joe had stuffed his face into her shoulder.
“Joe, what happened? Are you okay?” She grabs the man gently, checking him up and down for injuries. But there were none. Only red, puffy eyes and concerningly prominent tear tracks on his cheeks.
“What. . .” Her eyes widened and she placed her hands on the sides of Joe's face, tilting his head to look him in the eyes. There was a weight to that gaze, in how his eyes seemed duller than usual, in how- did his hair get longer?
“Cleo…” the zombie-hybrid quickly looks over to the new, achingly familiar voice. The distinct British accent slightly warbled through his helmet. Standing by the door, breathing heavily, was Xisuma. His helmet was hissing as the filtration turned the thick atmosphere of the Overworld into thinner, more breathable air that the Voidwalker could comfortably breathe.
“X? What’s going on?” Cleo held Joe to her side, but slowly approached her admin, who was looking at her with wild brown eyes. He reached out to her, poking her arm, as if she’d disappear into the void the second he made contact.
Suddenly, as if awoken from a daze, he retreated, swiping a hand, summoning the neon blue screens of an admin panel, one of the ones that could be seen by other players, and not just admins. Cleo spared a glance, and saw it as her player ID.
Xisuma made a strangled choking sound, and Cleo felt Joe tilt his head to see the screen, inverted though it may be from their perspective. He stumbled closer, eyes now watering slightly. A release of air was the only warning she got before Xisuma lifted his hands to his helmet, and removed it.
Now looking eye to eye, he spoke again, voice broken in what sounded like disuse.
“Cleo. You’ve- you've been gone for 3 years.”
- SCAR -
SECRET LIFE
“I LIKE THIS ONE, LET'S KEEP IT.”
“SUNFLOWER HAS EXCEEDED OUR EXPECTATIONS.”
“HE WOULD SURELY MAKE A GOOD-”
"HOLD YOUR EXCITEMENT. IT HAS CONNECTIONS WITH THE RUNAWAY. IT LIKELY HAS THE SAME. . . IRRATIONALITY. AND HAVE YOU NOT SEEN IT? IT CONTAINS IMPURE MAGIC."
“…YOU ARE CORRECT, TWO.”
Scar slowly lifted his head up from where it had been resting atop the pedestal where the ‘Succeed’ button rested. Various rolled-up and wax sealed scrolls surrounded him from where he sat crumbled against the pedestal. He didn't need to look to know what they said. With a blank look on his face, he tore his vision away from the scrolls, sniffling, his face felt crusted from long dried out tears.
With a hopeless yet resigned desperation, he slowly moved his hand back up to the button to press it again. A single tear went down his face as another scroll joined all the others, endlessly cluttered about him, taunting him. His eyes hurt from the crying that he’d long since stopped, his tear ducts dry and painful. His prior wounds, left untreated and open, stung as they rubbed against his rough, grating clothing. His hand was hurting and bloodied from constantly slamming the button, desperately hoping that something would happen other than those void-cursed scrolls. His legs were screaming with the all-too familiar ache of overuse, and his back felt like it was splitting in two. The vex wanted to start crying again, but he had shed all he had to give.
He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he decided to hit the button one last time, an insane, desperate attempt for something, anything new. Yet when he prepared for the crushing disappointment, the usual sound of paper colliding with stone was not present. No, instead there was a heavy thunk. Quickly looking up towards the noise, he looked towards where the secret keeper once was. The unnerving statue had oddly vanished once he woke up after… something.
On the broken, cracked stone, instead of the dreaded paper that still surrounded him like the very air he breathed, there was a satchel.
Scars eyes widened and he attempted to stand up to his feet, but vertigo and his chronic pain brought him swiftly back down to the earth. He had exerted his legs way too much over the past few weeks, having not even gotten access to his cane for too long, and even then, he more often than not forgot it in favor of a sword. Making an agitated noise born of anger and pain, he forcefully pushed himself back up, having to hone in a scream from the white hot pain shooting all along his spine. He stood there for a moment on shaking, unsteady legs before pushing himself towards the satchel, resorting to pulling his heavy body towards it, painfully dragging himself closer until he reached it, breath heavy and labored.
Ignoring the pain, he quickly grabbed for the bag and frantically dragged it towards him, unceremoniously ripping it open. Scar let out a whine as he saw the contents. He didn't know what he expected to find, but it definitely wasn't this.
Inside the bag was a bundle of assorted craft supplies. There was fabrics, yarn, string, and a bunch of other things. The initial disappointment wore off as something clicked in his brain. He felt his mind going completely blank, a storm of cotton rolling into his head, as he started picking out the materials, and he started making.
Adjusting himself upwards into a better position, and so that he wasn’t crawling, he focused on getting everything just right. It needed to be perfect. Unfortunately, he had no reference but his own mind, which wasn’t that trustworthy at the moment. All he knew was that his hands were moving, grabbing, twisting, threading-
He snapped back into awareness as he accidentally pricked himself with the needle he didn’t remember grabbing.
“Ow...” He stared down at the fresh blood not yet dripping from his finger, bright against the rest of the blood that had already dried into an uncomfortably sticky texture on his hands and under his chipped claws. He squeezed the soft object he was holding in his other hand-
What was he doing again?
Oh, right.
Scar’s eyes drifted to what he was holding in his hand. It was a little doll with a mop of dirty blond hair. It had a red sweater over its torso, with colorful macaw wings sprouting from its back and head.
It resembled a certain avian friend of his, painfully so.
Scar gently nudged one of the wings with the finger he had pricked earlier, being careful to not get any of his blood on it.
He should make one for everyone. Then…then he didn't have to be alone.
He should make everyone else.
He needed to make everyone else.
His mind seemed to fog over once more as he began, the Grian doll resting by his side. Soon, the avian doll had friends. His siblings, his friends, his enemies.
He was so focused that he didn't notice the flowers and vines started to grow around him, but he continued his great craft, even as the foliage around him reclaimed him into the earth.
- MARTYN -
LIMITED LIFE
“THAT EAVESDROPPER WON.”
“YOU OVERLOOK THE BLOODLUST IT HOLDS. BE CAREFUL, WE CANNOT FULLY BREAK THEM. YET.”
“IT WAS SIMILAR TO THAT MOONCHILD. HE KNOWS TO MUCH. ”
“YOU FORGET, WE DO NOT NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THAT.”
Martyn shot up from where he lay, a scream splitting the unnerving silence around him. Jumping to his feet immediately, his hands shot to the foreign yet familiar weight around his neck. He scratched at the cold metal that he recognized, searching the contraption for a release handle of some sort, but to no avail. He scratched at his neck, the thing was suffocating, he could barely get air into his lungs. He’d won! He was the last one standing, he recalled the bloodlust and adrenaline driving his sword, the delicious taste of time that wasn’t even added to the dreaded clock that, while he couldn't see, he could feel it ticking down. He didn't know what time it said, and that terrified him.
He tries to breathe, but the breaths are too short, too quick. He’s going to hyperventilate at this point, and that would leave him vulnerable to attack. He has to get it together, lest someone get the drop on him.
He tried to get the metal away from his throat, but it didn't budge. It was like it was bolted to his neck, and he didn't want to check if that was true because he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, there’s air everywhere yet he can't get any of it past the void-cursed collar around his throat like the collar of a mad dog-
Even as he tries to breathe, his adrenaline spikes again. It makes no sense, he’d already won, he’d killed all his friends his enemies, removing the obstacles in his path to total domination. He was on the top, so why was he still seeing red, why were his hands sticky, was something dripping down his neck, why was he chained like a dog on a leash, why why why-
His thoughts swung like the pendulum of the clock, like the time that ticked down, ever constant yet always changing, never the same. He wanted the collar off, he wanted to run something through with his sword(since when was diamond red?), he wanted to get out, he wanted to kill, he didn’t know what he wanted.
What was going on?
He needed to calm down, his blood was rushing too quickly. Martyn knelt down, sword on the ground in front of him as he took deep, painfully restricted breaths. Every thought made him more angry, so he just wouldn’t think too hard. But he needed to figure out what was going on. He needed to remember what he Heard, he cannot lose such important information. Martyn needed to tell somebody. He needed to calm down-
The Listener knew he was fighting a losing battle. He felt like there was blood all over him, his hands, nails, feet, arms, face, and he just wished it were the paranoia, but he couldn’t deny how wet his hands were. But he couldn’t focus on that, he needed to find someone, he needed to warn them.
He needed to remember, he needed to tell Grian-
Calm down, Martyn. We need to remember, and we can’t with you thinking a mile a minute. So just calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down.
Calm down.
A deep inhale, followed by an exhale.
…
Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down, Calm down Calm down Calm down CALM DOWN CALM DOWN CALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWNCALMDOWN-
One of his ears twitched and his head snapped painfully quickly towards the noise. Hands slowly lowering from his neck,(when had he started scratching his neck?) blood dripping from his clawed fingers. Since when did he have claws?
He slowly got back up onto his feet, grabbing his sword from where it laid in front him. He dragged it behind him, stumbling towards the noise. The scraping of diamond on grass, then stone, grated on his sensitive ears, but the blood rushing in his ears blotted out any other noise. He wasn’t thinking, he just followed the noise with eyes that glowed a haunting red, like the blood that surrounded him and stained the sky itself.
He had gotten rid of all the players, murdered them with his very own sword. But the crimson sun was setting, the sky still a violent red.
If there were no players, he would just kill the mobs.
There seemed to be a surplus of them around, perhaps drawn by the lack of player activity. It's dangerous to have so many roaming around, he should… thin the herd, just a bit.
The noise from earlier was that of a zombie, its movements much like his own, sluggish and confused. But Martyn wasn’t slow. He wasn’t confused. He had his sword, and his life.
And in an instant, the zombie did not even have whatever remnant of its own life it retained, as it fell to the floor.
Mob blood, not as exhilarating as player blood, but it would do. He let out a chuckle that echoed throughout the empty land, no doubt heard by countless of the undead and otherwise. The Eavesdropper let his mind slip, and he did what he does best.
Everything became a red blur, Martyn had no control here, all he knew was the slaughter. Sword severing legs from spiders, crushing their abdomens underfoot. He tore heads from undead bodies, shattering bones, whether or not they had flesh on them. His manic laughter only increased with each swipe, with each stab, and when his hands were too coated in blood to hold the sword, he tore them apart with his bare hands and claws he didn't even know he had.
His only thoughts were to kill. Somewhere deep, deep in the recess of his mind, Martyn shivered at his actions. He didn't know where he started and that… Thing began. Was this not his doing, or… or was this truly him?
He didn't want to know the answer to that question.
It reminded him of servers long past, an admin he couldn’t remember, kingdoms burnt, sick riddles and punishments-
He wasn’t sure how long it took before he awoke a second time.
He wasn’t sure if he ever would.
But surely enough, he gasped sharply, the sickly scent of rotten flesh and bones and iron. He took a shaky glance at his hands, but only saw static.
He decided to not remember that.
All around him, in a pile of unrecognizable mush, was the same static. Like a black bar over one’s eyes, he couldn’t see what he had done.
But he knew.
What had he done. . .?
************************************
What was he thinking again? He huffed, it didn't matter, really. All that mattered was what was at his feet. The Evesdropper looked on in delight, knowing just what it was. He let out another bout of manic laughter, tears springing up on the edges of his vision. No doubt any other mobs around would be running from the sound.
There was nothing else around. He had killed them all. He stood alone among the ***********
His sword made a sharp sound as it struck the hourglass on his side. The metal around his neck burned, but it didn't matter.
None of that mattered to him.
All that mattered was that, finally, the world had gone silent.
Because it knew what would happen if it dared to make a sound.
- PEARL -
DOUBLE LIFE
“AWW, HOW CUTE, STARBLESSED SACRIFICED ITSELF.
"THE MOONCHILD PERFORMED VERY WELL. I AM QUITE PLEASED WITH THIS ONE'S OUTCOMES."
"IT IS RELATED TO THE RUNAWAY. WILL IT POSE A PROBLEM IN THE FUTURE?"
"AS LONG AS SHE IS NOT GIVEN THE GIFT, NO."
Pearl had been laying on the ground for quite a long time now, just staring aimlessly at the stars. She had woken up a while ago. At least, relatively(she had no way of telling the time), but she just… hadn’t gotten up.
She had no reason to.
So she decided to just lay there, watching as the sky got darker and filled with stars. Beautiful, shining stars.
She feels like something is missing from the sky.
Something big, bright. Energetic.
The sky never brightened, an endless sea of stars with no moon in sight. And why would there be? She was there already, not shining but there.
She reached a hand up towards the sky as if she could grab one of those millions of stars and just- never let go. When she reached, she’d noticed a bright red string ensnaring her whole arm, even down to the hand. With a curious tilt of the head, she used her other hand, which was also covered in the string, and grabbed at the string, pulling at it idly. Pearl didn't even flinch as it got tighter and even started cutting into her skin, a different red substance now painting lines on her arms. She didn’t wince at the pain, no, why would she when this was just so fascinating? She inspected the thread with a critical eye and a frown. The thread extended from her wrist, then it was sharply cut off, burnt on the end. She let out a pout of frustration. Why did it end there? It's supposed to keep going and connect her to…
Both her arms fall to her sides on the bunt, dead grass around her as she puzzled that last thought. Before she could get lost in her thoughts, a sudden bout of clarity hit her. How was she still alive? She very blatantly remembers her- remembers Scott blowing them up. Right, she hadn’t been the one to hop on the explosive. Did the soulmate string not work? She should tell Grian. Or X. He coded it, right?
The game was over, she had won. She should be back with her flockmates! Why was she even laying on the brunt grass, stargazing, when there was no one to look at them with? Why had she killed all her friends? She hadn’t wanted to hurt anybody, least of all her flock. So why, why did she do that? Her hand reaches up for the small braid in her hair, absently looking for the familiar feathers that she’d found so much comfort in, the feathers that meant she was flock, she was family.
They weren’t there.
When did she lose them?
A distressed chirp left her lips, her wings fluffing up in fear. Where were they?! Being given a feather was a tremendous honor, she’d nearly cried when Grian gave her one during the first few weeks of season 8, determined to reiterate that they were still family. She HAD cried when Jimmy gave her his.
Pearl was so confused and scared, her emotions a mess she couldn’t begin to untangle, like the mass of string cutting into her arms. She felt so, so alone now. She’d felt lonely the whole game, in truth. She’d just suppressed it well. She was very strong, her presence here was evidence of that, but strength meant nothing if there was no one around to share it with.
Wait…
If she is feeling lonely, then she should just go find everyone!
She slapped her forehead, it was so obvious! She’s sure Scott would tease her endlessly about that when she finds them.
The barn owl avian giggled to herself, the sound less manic than it was just a few hours ago, and stood onto her taloned feet. Of course, her Flock was probably all hiding somewhere when they respawned, and were waiting to congratulate her! Either that, or she spooked them a bit with her performance, but Grian knew she was just a really good actor, so he’d tell the others, surely.
She wiped ash And blood, respawning usually didn't mean this much blood from her red coat, taking a glance at her outfit in the pond. She giggled again, she looked every part the manic murderer she’d pretended to be, and happily skipped along a path only she could see. First order of business, find Tilly, then she will track down her friends, and they can all stargaze together! The perfect plan!
They were all dead, the blood red in her eyes knew, it knew that Tilly was long gone, that her Flock was gone, that she’d hunted them down like prey.
She would have to ask for new feathers from Grian and Jimmy, but they were always understanding to her! Plus, she could just pull her signature Younger Sibling Eyes™ to convince Griba! Jimmy is younger than her, but she knows he won’t mind either. Her smile widened as she thought about all the whining the elder would do when they forced him into a preening session, but would end up boneless anyways. Or how happy Jimmy would get once he could wrap his golden wings around all three of them.
Her family was long gone. They haven’t been able to share moments like that since Ev*******-
She needed to apologize to Scott for hurting him, and for being a bad soulmate. She hadn't meant to split from him, and she’s not entirely sure why she did, but it didn't matter! She would apologize and they could be friends again!
He never cared about her.
Pearl, happily skipped through the forest, humming a melody lost to crumbled servers as she led the great search for her family and friends. They must be worried sick, after all! She needed to be quick, or Grian would be stressed out of his feathers!
She giggles at the visual, and continues the search, the time spent searching lost to her mind, once headstrong and rational, now childish and daydreaming at the stars that never went away.
She's never going home, she killed home with her own two hands.
And she laughed as she did it.
- SCOTT -
LAST LIFE
“YOU WERE RIGHT TO CONTINUE THIS.”
"OF COURSE I AM. THIS ONE SEEMS QUITE GOOD AT THE GAME."
"IT SEEMS TOO COLLECTED AND CALM. I DO NOT TRUST IT."
"HMMMM. THAT CAN BE FIXED."
Scott did not feel like he was awake when his eyes first snapped open.
Ugh, his limbs felt like they were tied down by rocks, and his head slammed into a few walls. The last thing he remembered was getting struck by lightning, the white hot pain coursing through his body. His memories went blank after that, all he could recall was how it felt like the lightning struck in his veins, all throughout him, and trying to scream, but nothing came out.
With a concerning amount of difficulty, he managed to get himself sitting upright. Taking quick stock of his injuries, he found that he could barely feel some of the scratches that were an angry, agitated red along his arms and hands. When had those gotten there? And why was there such a stabbing pain coming from his wrists and neck?
Where exactly was he?
The unicorn-hybrid slowly looked around, taking in his surroundings. The area is starting to look painfully familiar. Confusion struck him as he realized he was still in the setting of Last Life.
That doesn't make any sense, he lost his final life. He should be waking up back in his bed at Empires.
Scott was about to push himself back onto his hooves when he noticed something wrong with his hands. There was a concerning tremor in them as he tried to keep them steady. As he brought them closer to his face, his delicate fingers looked so pale they were almost white, and his joints had a strange look, like they were outlined with black.
They made his limbs look like ball and socket joints.
His brow furrowed and he pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and the tight arm warmers covering his wrists. He found his lower arms to be meeting the same fate as his hands. Yet that isn’t what stole his breath, and not in a good way.
He inhaled sharply at a band of sickly blue wrapped painfully tight around his wrist, so tight that it was cutting into his too-pale, too fake-looking skin. Holding his breath, he followed the string from where it drooped off his wrist. It seemed almost endless, fading off into the haunting purple that surrounded him like a gas. A hand shot to his neck, where the second major pain was, and he couldn’t help the pained whine as he grazed the second thread, this one tighter, and even more painful. He didn't want to touch it, in fear of what it might do, what it would feel like.
Not pleasant, that’s for sure.
With slightly frantic movements, he let his sleeves fall back to cover his wrists so he could check on the state of his legs. Rolling up his pants further, he found his fear confirmed as his knee joints were outlined in the same way, like a doll. Yet for some reason, his hooves seemed unaffected, if a bit chipped.
Taking a few shaky breaths, Scott did his best to calm down, moving to place a hand on his chest to feel it rise and fall.
That endeavor was quickly stopped when he felt some of his fingers go through his chest.
What. . .?
He took a glance down, bracing himself for the sight. He shuffled his jacket, leaving it slipped off one shoulder, giving him a decent enough view of his upper body. And the gaping, heart shaped hole in it.
He stared, as if in shock, as the reality of the situation started hitting him. He tried breathing slowly, but to no avail, because that was a freaking hole in his chest. How was this possible?! Surely, he would’ve died by it, but it wasn’t bleeding. It barely hurt. It just ached, deep in his bones. Scott could handle the weird creepy doll limbs, but a giant hole in his chest was a little much, even for him! It was just supposed to be a fun little game that Xisuma helped Grian make, where they could let out some frustrations, work on pvp skills, get some new jokes and funny moments. How had it gone so sideways?
The unicorn-hybrid felt his magic fizzle a little due to his stress, his tail trying to wrap around his leg, but of course there's a void-forsaken string tied around it, too.
Scott, decidedly, no longer likes strings.
While trying to take deep breaths, and not thinking about whether his lungs are even still intact, he grabs for his communicator, kept in his pocket for safekeeping, in hopes that he would be able to contact someone, anyone, or at least be able to get away from this place.
After saying several not so family-friendly cusses, his fears are realized. The thing won't turn on, no matter how much he tries pressing the button, tapping the screen, hitting the device, throwing it, yelling at it, nothing works. He was just about to throw it as far from him as possible in a fit of panicked rage, when his hand was sharply and painfully stopped.
With a confused expression, he tried moving his arm in the motion again, but it was like it was stuck, suspended by a string. Not only that, but the arm went limp. He couldn’t even wiggle his fingers. Another sharp tug, and the limb fell from its raised position, falling lifeless at his side.
Now, Scott considered himself a put together person. He’d seen a lot of weird stuff, and gone through a lot.
However, losing control of a limb? Having strings tied uncomfortably tight to several vital parts of his body? Being stuck in a death game? The giant void-accursed hole in his chest?
He thinks freaking out is warranted.
But before he could even follow that train of thought, he was launched backwards into a tree, making him emit a yelp that turned into a cry of pain. The various threads cutting into his skin had been pulled in unison, sending him flying. He tried to let out a groan, but nothing happened. The strings that had been pulled taught lay limp around him, and yet he couldn’t move. It wasn’t just his arm now, the numbness had spread across his whole body.
He couldn’t move.
Not like a ‘I can’t move my limbs’ couldn’t move.
No, he could. Not. Move.
Apparently things could get worse. . .
- GRIAN -
3RD LIFE
“AWWW, POOR XELQUA LOOKS SO HEARTBROKEN.”
“THIS WAS VERY ENTERTAINING, WE SHOULD REWARD IT.”
"IT WOULD BE A SHAME TO LET THIS OPPORTUNITY PASS. LET'S KEEP THEM."
Grian woke up rapidly coughing bitter sand from his mouth and lungs. He pushed himself up, attempting to rid his face and poncho of the sand, to little success. He could feel the little grains of it stuck in between his feathers, uncomfortably itching the priorly bound appendages. The avian attempted to shake some of it off but a shot of pain along his left wing made him stop with a hiss. That… wasn’t good.
He must have broken it when he fell.
Wait…
How is he still alive?
Grian searched his surroundings, and found the same old blown up, uncomfortably warm desert that made up Monopoly Mountain. He could see the cactus, lava, and TNT craters from where he sat, right below where. . .
Why is he still here? There was only supposed to be one game.
He quickly swiped at his communicator, screen all but shattered. It didn't matter. He ignored the small shards of glass in his finger, and pressed the red button flickering weakly in the corner, raising a purple screen. He’d normally look around to see if anyone was looking, his admin status wasn’t exactly well known. Even when he’d made the Life Series, he said that X had helped him mainly.
The flickering panel with glitching code covered his blurred vision, and he scanned the code with an expert’s eyes. Everything seemed to be running normally, so what-
A gasp left his chapped lips.
No.
Anything else, please, just not-
It was fruitless. He recognized that malicious coding anywhere.
The Watchers.
His breath wasn’t coming in quick enough, or was it too fast? His wrists felt cold with iron, his wings felt tight. His throat closed up, the panel in front of him glitching until it went blank, but didn’t disappear. He dismissed it himself, tossing his communicator in anger.
Why? Why now? He’d finally been safe, yet they found him.
He knew he’d never escape THEM.
He let out an angry yell as he felt his freedom slipping through his talons like the very sand underneath him. He knew THEM. He knew their cruelty like a brand on his skin.
He needed to get away from this place.
Grain scrambled to his feet, talons slipping on sand. Anger and desperation filled his hollow bones as he turned up to the sky, bloody fists clenched so tightly he could feel his talons piercing the skin of his hands. He didn’t care about the pain. He deserved it.
“Why?! After all these years, what do you have to gain?!” His words echoed into empty space, bouncing off bare planes of dust and forests empty of any life, even mobs. He knew THEY wouldn’t pay attention. THEY always pretended like they were all high and mighty, like they were perfect. But he knew the truth. He knew them for what they truly were.
THEY were cowardly, scared, and more than anything, THEY were dying out, fading into the realm of forgotten legends, reduced to a dusty book in a long-forgotten library.
He just tried not to think about what they could be plotting to do to his players. He had already failed one server, and it seemed the Watchers were determined to make him lose a second.
“I told you Gree-on was worthless~ Now don’t go joking about that, Tauris.”
With a shaky sigh, he used the sleeve of his poncho to wipe the tears he hadn’t noticed were falling, sand rubbing uncomfortably in his eyes. It wasn’t helped by the sunburn on his face and nose, making him wince as the sensitive skin was touched.
How long had he been laying on the ground? A few minutes? Hours? Days?
…How cold were his friend's corpses?
Grian adjusted his poncho, shaking infinitely more sand off, though he knew it would never get fully out. He needed to preen, but he wouldn’t be able to reach the more irritable spots, and… well, no one was around to help.
Walking with a small limp where an arrow had pierced his upper thigh, he started making his way out of the desert, not really paying attention to the direction he was going. He was far too busy focusing on cursing out every Watcher he could remember.
Yslan, void-curse her. Quiloy, void-curse him.
Tauris, void-curse the person he’d become.
Especially void curse One and Two, two of the only original watchers that still existed and weren’t… Manufactured, like he was.
He shakes his head to forget that time.
He was snapped out of his thoughts as he smacked hard into a wall he hadn’t seen. Rubbing his already pained forehead, he looked up. He hadn’t been watching where he was going, and so he probably ran into something. A tree, a rock face, one of the many destroyed bases that littered the land now. Yet as he looked up to see what he’d hit..
There was nothing. Just air.
Dread started to fill him once again like an unstoppable wave, and the avian's feathers fluffed up underneath the poncho as he felt along the barrier in front of him. Not wanting his fears to be realized by the cruel entities no doubt Watching him, he started following along the wall, praying to find some give. A click, a little divot, a door, a hole, anything.
No. No no no, nononononononononononononoNONONONONO-
He ran desperately, talons scraping against a barrier he knew he couldn’t pass. He stared at the grass, just out of reach. He wouldn’t be able to reach it. Not even a blade. He recognized one of the cruelest of the Watcher’s powers when abused.
The World Border.
He slammed a hand against the barrier blocks he painfully recognized, he could practically see the blue wall stained red. He let out a scream of anger, yet nothing moved. There was no response. No birds startled, zombies alerted of a potential victim…
No friends asking if he was okay, only for him to inevitably lie and say I’m fine.
That last realization struck him hard, taking the wind out of him, emerging as a bitter chuckle. The ball started rolling, and he couldn’t stop it now. He kept laughing, a horrible noise, loud and broken and wrong. Such a voice wasn’t meant to hold such sorrow. Yet his manic laughter continued, it kept coming out like an ocean being drained into the void.
Tears spilled down his sunburnt face, stinging, but unnoticed by the Ex-Watcher, but he kept laughing. He hadn’t moved from where he’d slumped against the barrier, not even as his screaming laughter muffled, turning into subtle, quiet sobs. He didn't move, and why would he?
There was nowhere to go. His Home was gone. His Flock.
Of course the Watchers would not even give him the comfort of leaving this void-cursed dessert. . .
.
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WELCOME TO TRAPPED LIFE