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Glimmers of red ash flew freely from the campfire, the campfire cackled almost akin to a person's chuckle. Almost.
Polly gazed at the small dancing flames, occasionally blinking once his eyes burned. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, his thickly gloved hands busied themselves tending his crossbow. It had been a fruitless day today: God wasn't present nor had visited the recent village he visited. In spite of him not showing his bafflement nor remark anything about the nitwit villager's casual usage of God's name, he found the recently visited village had good relations with God once upon a time, and that the reason it was recovering was not from God's ire befalling upon their poor souls, rather by his Hosts-forsaken illagerfolk. Folks he himself no longer associated with.
He glanced to his left, a creeper was trying and failing to get through the fenced copse Polly set up before night time fully arrived. He snorted, finding the potentially fatal night creature's pitiful attempts amusing. He returned to stare at the fire. He ought to rest sooner than later, lest spiders climb up the fences. Damn those creepy crawlies.
With a click of his crossbow, Polly figured it was fully repaired — as repaired as he could do with very little resources. Polly took an arrow, tucked it in the crossbow and aimed at the creeper and fired. The arrow landed dead center on the walking foliage's face — between its eyes. He smirked, satisfied with the test, he laid the crossbow next to the pile of arrows and grabbed the water bucket aside the tent he made. Sprinkling water on the fire, it hissed and sizzled until there was only dim embers. He placed the empty bucket down, standing straight as he stretched. Polly took his crossbow and arrows inside the tent, sealing the drab shut and then laid on his bed.
Polly pulled out a map, crossing an X over the region where the village he left was located. He sighed, thinking of punching a tree out of frustration, but decided against it. It's not like that'll bring God to him—
Crunch, crunch.
The sound of leaves crunched underneath footsteps alerted the defector. Polly raised his crossbow, eyes wide mostly out of fear than wariness. A creeper was approaching him by the second, and he knew he couldn't outrun it in this dense forest. He'd just bump into a zombie or another creeper if he ran. He couldn't even retreat to his tent right now — it would take time for him to set it up and by the time he had done so, he'd already be blown up. His ears perked up, his sense of hearing heightened to listen to any noise out of his vision. In a corner within his mind, Polly should've at least speed-walked away then he would needn't to fuss about his face being blown up, but he was too caught up in his fear of creepers for any sense of rationality to dawn upon him. Few weeks after his defection from the Empire — maybe it had been six months, he didn't remember much aside from surviving — Polly decided to defend a desert village from a small horde of zombies of maybe around ten: managing to kill every single one of them without a single infected wound on him. Then, a little after sunrise, a creeper managed to sneak and blew up behind him. He'd nearly die from the explosion. It was only by the Hosts' gracious kindness did he survive the attack, and the Hosts' absolute blessing to be taken in and wounds tended to by the villagers he protected for a night. Although he sometimes believed the villagers pitied the illager traitor.
In short, Polly didn't have neutral opinions on creepers. Anyway, the creeper was steadily approaching him, its footsteps heavy and clanked like iron against iron periodically. The forest was still lively, he found, there was not the slightest hint of an uncomfortable silence signalling danger. Polly was... Confused. To say the least. He not once heard of creepers growing bigger in size, nor seen a larger than normal creeper, nor even recalled a time nature wasn't silent when monsters lurked underneath trees. A silhouette appeared, not enough to make out a figure perfectly clear but enough to give their general form. They were bulky, not alike Johnny - Polly's former friend - but reminisce of a person wearing armour. The bulky person got closer and closer until Polly could, at the very least, distinguish their violet eyes... Wait. No, no it can't be- Polly's eyes were as wide as a full moon during the night. He lowered his crossbow, his hands shakily grasping the weapon as the revelation dawned upon him: God.
Polly dropped his weapon as he fell to his knees. He was glad he had the foresight to buy a nitwit's outfit three months prior after finding that God outright refuse to harm nitwits regardless of whether or not that type of villager harmed God. Ugh, he should have maybe painted his face a light brown to make the disguise more believable, but he feared God's ire should doing so bear no fruit at all. He prayed to the Hosts that God would be merciful enough to spare his life.
God stopped before Polly, light pouring from above and casted the cosmic immortal Host-sent being in a radiant glamour, God's iron armour shining brilliantly against the light. Reflecting it to illuminate the grim forest. The diamond rapier God held glittered and reflected just as much light as it could, albeit with a cyan tint to its reflected light. Polly didn't stare for long, fearing God's wrath, he tilted his head to a bow. Eyes averted to the ground.
He held his breath as God took a step closer and kneeled, a gloved hand lifted his chin though he had shut his eyelids before he could make eye contact. God huffed, releasing the sword with a soft cling and raised that hand to ever so gently pry an eye open. It didn't took much effort. Once he had taken a proper look at God's face, he relaxed a margin. There was an unfamiliar softness - to him, but to a villager it might've been the same softness a parent would give to their child - and curiosity vividly expressed. Could he...
He lifted and waved his hand, "H- Hi." Polly took the risk, waiting for God's next reaction to his unexpected - and probably unwelcome - greeting. God's parted brows raised, seemingly a good kind of surprised as God hummed. Maybe he should continue? "You, uh.. I am. Inspired by your kindness. It made me realise a few things about the Illager ways of living." Polly tapped God's forearm. "Could you- oh, thanks." He inched a little farther from God. "Anyway.. I'm grateful the Hosts had sent you. I wouldn't know what I'd become if I had fell deeper into the propaganda the evokers taught." He grimaced, eyes to the ground again as he remembered Johnny. His former best friend.
Before he fell deeper into painful memories, God stood, the sounds of metal clanging against metal soft yet remained audible. A hand was offered to Polly. He hesitated for a moment, then another, then eventually took it. Steadying his footing, he dipped his head. Not sure for what, as he hadn't really thought what to do after meeting God, but he might as well nodded in gratitude. Grateful for God's indirect guidance on what he thought of the evokers' manipulations.
"...Huh- hey! Don't just leave me here." Polly followed after God.