Work Text:
Grian had always wondered how fast a mind could break, how fast one could go from being perfectly sane to having a fractured mind. He wondered if you could feel it shattering, or if one minute you could tell up from down and the next be drowning.
Losing his mind had begun to seem very appealing to Grian, to be lost in insanity. He could stop regretting and just be numb to the world, a shadow that does nothing but stare, so he could forgive himself and finally rest. Maybe he was already insane if he wished for that.
All he could feel was his regret, now that there was no laughter to block out the creeping sadness, no scared fingers to wrap around his own and pull him back to reality, no infectious smile to chase away bad dreams; all that was left was an empty numbness filling his heart and drowning all other feelings in a well of regret.
He missed how easy it had been to forget before, how easy it had been to beat- no, murder his enemies, how easy it was to tear down walls of trust and how easy it had been to love. But things were different now, he had killed him, he had killed Scar, his one anchor to this world, the one thing keeping him going. Now he was adrift.
He hadn't really meant to kill Scar; it had been through a red haze, buzzing ears, and screaming voices that he had slammed his friend's head against a large rock. The loud crack of bone and the strong scent of iron had brought Grian back to reality, and he realized what he had done.
------------------------------------------
Blood had begun to seep from the back of Scar's head, painting the sand beneath Grian’s feet crimson and seeping into his friend's clothing.
He had not died quickly, as Grian had hoped, instead, Scar had stared up into the sky and chuckled. Tears had run down his cheeks and mixed with the blood. His sobs had almost seemed happy, as if he was happy the game was finally over, and he could rest.
Soon, Grian had begun crying too, his tears tracing lines down his bruised face, dropping and mixing with scar blood. He had tried not to think how darkly poetic that was, that even in death scar would still have a piece of him.
Scars had eventually begun to drift off into unconsciousness, and he had whispered, "You won, Grian, you won”.
His words had been slurred and quieter than he had heard from his loud friend, but he still heard him.
Grian had then grabbed him and pulled his friend onto his lap, cradling him, wishing he could save Scar from the clawing Hand of death, wishing that he could stop his dulling red eyes from turning unblinking.
But there was nothing to be done.
He had cried into his friend's shirt and told him how much he loved him and how he was so sorry. He was so, so sorry. But soon Grian could not feel Scar breathing through his blood-soaked t-shirt, and when he checked his pulse, there was nothing.
------------------------------------------
He did not know how long it had been since then, he did not know if the sun had bleed in to the sky and risen again, or if it was just the same day.
It had been long enough to dig a shallow grave for scar and planted poppies and lilacs over it, they had been the same ones that scar had given to him all those days ago. They would be breathtaking once they bloomed.
He had come back to the cliff top edge where they had fought. The blood on the ground had begun to brown, and the smell of iron had grown.
He could not believe that he was gone, his one constant in the world, gone, and by his hand. He should have let Scar kill him, he should have pressed a blade to his throat and killed himself before Scar had the chance to die.
It was unfair, Grian had taken Scars' first life, and he had seen as the explosion had turned Scars' eyes from a beautiful emerald green to yellow. He had seen how it had ripened through his body before he had been revived.
He had not meant it, of course, he hadn't. He hadn't known that scar wouldn't react in time, he did not realize that the creeper blast would be that strong, he thought it would just be a prank.
It was just a prank.
------------------------------------------
After, Grian had sworn his first life to scar, that till his eyes had turned yellow, he would be there whenever he needed him.
It turned out that we worked well as a team.
They had claimed a monopoly on the dark oak, even if it was short-lived. Had claimed the desert and built their home from the ground up. They had even adopted a lama and called him Pizza, who scar had unconditionally loved until he was caught in the crossfire and got an arrow to the neck. He was buried next to where Scar now lay.
He had been there when scar had fallen down a ravine, he had been there one scar had first felt the effect of red life, when all he saw was a red haze, he had been there when scars thirsted for blood had grown and had helped him set up traps.
When Grian had lost his first life, Scar had been there with poppies and lilacs and asked him to stay. He had been free of his deal, but they had grown so close, and Grian could not bear the thought of going off on his own, so he stayed.
It was surprising how quickly they had fallen into step with each other. Friends weren't meant to be made in the game, there was always so much betrayal and manipulation, that it was hard to trust anyone, but somehow Grian had gotten lucky.
------------------------------------------
Grian knew that Scar would never portray him, so it had been surprised when Scar had thrown a piece of paper in front of him and Bdubs and said, "whoever gets the piece of paper first, I don't kill".
Bdubs had dived at the floor and snatched the paper, while Grian had hesitated, unsure if Scar was planning something or not.
He did not have a chance to even scream when Scar stabbed him with his sword, too shocked that he had actually done it. Actually killed him
He had woken up in his bed and had felt the blood thirst of the red life take over him. It was a thick, overpowering sensation crawling up his throat and behind his eyes, filling his mouth with the unmistakable taste of blood.
He could not believe it had been scar, scar of all people, to send him to his last life. When Scar had come back to monopoly Mountain, Grian had run at him, sword held. He wanted to kill him, he had to.
but then he saw a scar and he just couldn't.
Scar had stood there looking down at his feet with the blood splattered paper in hand, " I am so sorry, grian, so sorry, I I-I did-I didn't".
They had gone to the river, and Scar had explained that he had not meant to kill him, he was tricking Bdubs, but the red had become overwhelming, and all he could see was blood. He had killed Bdubs after, and that he was so, so sorry. Grain had brushed away scars, tears, and stade that in it was ok, that he was upset, but there was nothing they could do now.
But Scar still cried "I am so sorry, Grian."
------------------------------------------
It had only been them left at that point, only scar and grian. It was kind of amusing how it had worked out, Scar, the first to fall and become a red life, and Grian, the last. He had wished that they could avoid the inevitable, wished that they could have lived together, but this was a game, and the game had to have a winner.
Both of them could feel the red building, wanting a fight, slowly wearing down their willpower. It was a waiting game to see whose thread would snap first.
As the sun set, the river they sat next to seemed to turn to crimson in the dying light. The hunger for blood grew, and so had the red voices. He could not look at scar without the his eyes tracing hischest where he knew his heart was. It would be so easy, so easy to grab his sword and piece it and cease its beating. Scar would not have even any time to react, would not even be able to scream. But the thought of seeing Scars eyes growing dull made him sick.
How could he kill Scar after all they had been through, after he had watched Scar die twice. Even though Scar had killed him, he still could not, he had killed Scar first, been there both times, and had watched as Scar had fallen into the chasm, watching his body be torn apart from the blast. He could not kill Scar, not again, not ever.
-
Scar had made his way to the water's edge. He looked so sad behind the smile he was wearing, looked so lost, so ready for it all to end. When he had held out his sword to Grian and kneeled in the water, he knew what was coming.
" Grian, for all that you have done to get me this far, you may kill me and take the enchanting table," but Grian couldn't, he just couldn't, he could not take his friend's life, could not watch the water turn red with blood, could not see his eyes dull. It shocked him that scar thought he could.
"No scar, I can't. I can't."
Scar's shoulders had relaxed as he looked up, the tension leaving them. He had happily returned to Grian side, and they had watched as the sky had slowly turned from a stunning mix of reds and blues to the deep nothingness of night. There had never been any star. It had disconcerted Grian at first, he knew that there should be stars, there was no way there could be anything to stop them, and the sky always stayed clear of clouds, they were just simply not there. eventually, though, Grian had found comfort in the emptiness, that you could just look up and be lost in the dark, be free falling in a void with nothing but peace.
He'd wondered if that was what death was like; he hoped it was, Grian didn't think he could stand it if there was something after, that he would have to face the people he had killed, who had killed him.
They stayed there all night staring into the sky, eventually Grian had fallen asleep. He had wondered if Scar would take advantage and kill him, to finally get it over and done with, but the next morning, he had found himself perfectly fine and unharmed.
Sleep had bought a brief brake from the otherwise constant effects of red life, but it was back. His hunger for food turned to a hunger for blood, and his willpower was slowly crumbling. He knew that one of them would die today. The red would only grow till he could not control himself.
He had seen the others, had seen as the saintly leave them, and all they wanted was blood, no matter if it was form a friend or foe.
Scar had seemed to be thinking is along the same lines as him.
"Grian, I want to die myself."
Grian wanted the same; if one of them had to die, he didn't want their final moment to be lost to the red. He wanted to be able to grip the other person's hand and say that he was sorry; he wanted to say goodbye.
"What if we fight, no weapons or armor?"
It was the closest they would get to fair in this game
"ok"
That settled it
"ok"
------------------------------------------
They had gone to the cactus ring to fight. It had been quick. Grian thought he would lose, thought that his bigger friend would surely overpower him within a couple of seconds. But he hadn't, and now he was gone, just gone.
Gone.
Grian had won; he had won the games, he was the last person left, the last one alive.
he had won.
But he didn't feel triumphant. Scar had whispered that in his final moment, said it like it was some kind of glory. He wished it were a victory, so at least his pain had meant something. But it had all been worthless, all the suffering, all the betrayal, all the blood, worthless. The haze of red had not even faded, it had only dulled at the taste of blood.
The game had taken nearly everything from him, slowly chipping away at the building blocks that made him sane. The house that he had spent so long on was in ruins, all the friends he had allied with were dead, and his one everything, his constant scar, was in a shallow grave. It was all too much, it made him want to tear his hair out and claw at his skin, anything to distract him from the pain and guilt. It didn't help that he could feel the red growing, begging, commanding for blood.
He wanted to scream, so he did. It ripped through his throat causing him to cough. how long had he been without water? At least he didn't have to worry about anyone hearing him.
Scar, his scar, had died, and it was all his fault. If he had just been brave enough to let Scar kill him, if let himself die in a different Battle, than scar would still be here.
The guilt was killing him, he had taken scar life, cut it short. Unlike Grian, he had so much more to live for. He burned brightly, making people smile wherever he went. He could charm his way out of anything. he was just, simply, better at living than Grian. He should have enjoyed life, and now he was gone.
It should have been him, he should be dead. The red bubbled up at that thought, and the voices began screaming into his ear, "blood, blood, blood".
He should have died, the world should have beaten him till he could not get back up, till he was six feet under. It was unfair.
"blood, blood, bood"
The red wanted blood, but there was no one else to take it from, only him? Only him.
He should have died, he should be dead, maybe this is what the game needs, to help balance it out.
He stumbled to the cliff's edge, he could see everything from there, the cates ring around the desert, the explosion torn terrain, and behind him was his house. Every thin scar and him had worked so hard for, soon he would not have to look at it again.
The red had gone silent, no more screaming, as if watching.
He jumped
The fall was short
The last thing he saw was a million eyes watching, waiting, feeding.