Chapter Text
Dying was something horrible. It meant the end of your existence, but in your point of view, it felt like the end of everything. All of time halted along with your life, when really it continues on. While you met a peaceful forever-slumber, those who knew and cared for you grieved and mourned for you while you dont have the brain or conciousness to even think about them. Did anything even matter when, if after enough generations, only a stone with your name engraved on it was proof you existed? If you were even lucky enough to gain a tomb? When your family grows large enough or if they forget you as a whole, there will be a day that tomb shall no longer be covered in beautiful white flowers or freshly lit candles but instead moss, dirt, and maybe a careless footprint of someone who could barely feel the world around them, unable to notice your resting place in their clouded daze to stumble over to their own loved one’s tomb.
Of course, that definition of death was under the impression you believed in no afterlife. Or that you weren’t so accustomed to it after experiencing it day in and day out over and over for.. How long now, four years?
The survivors grew unphased by a blade piercing their skin or the pain of burns along their bodies. They still screamed, still cried (albeit, the begging that usually accompanied it was replaced by curses and profanity, even by Noob, who could be surprisingly.. Uhh.. Passionate.), but gone was the pure fear. The fear of being on death’s door, of having a brick to your head be the last thing you feel. When they were caught at any HP lower than 20 with no clear escape, they stopped fighting, resigned with a sigh or insult to their murderer that held them by a chokehold, and let them do it. Even the killers were bored! Sure they were still driven by anger or frustration (or corruption, in John’s case), but they didn’t take many thrills in it anymore! Even c00lkidd- c00lkidd was bored. Whenever the Spectre sent c00lkidd in when he was mid-sleep, he rarely jolted up with a burst of energy like he used to. He has slept through more rounds than the Spectre cared to admit.
If the Spectre could run a hand down it’s face, it would. What to do? Add another killer? It just added Azure into the mix a few weeks ago! And sure, the sheer fear on Two Time’s face and their incapability to continue with their typical tasks whenever it was Azure’s turn was amusing enough, it didn’t produce enough agony to sate them. A new survivor? Jane Doe hasn’t died in Robloxia yet, though.. They could just kidnap her. But she was independent. Even if she’d get shaken up seeing her husband as a monster, it was sure she would adapt quickly. It needed people who couldn’t adapt. Elliot sure struggled adapting. Sure he was independent in his own right, but being raised in such a cushy childhood still made it hard to adapt to fighting for his life 24/7.
Elliot had a sister.
The Specter would sit up in it’s chair if it had a chair or a physical body to even sit in said chair. From what he knows, his sister only started to work at his job recently. Not only that, she was less hesitant to depend on her father’s money and home and livelihood. It made her weaker than him. There it was, a plan forming.
Elliot had improved compared to when he first got here. Less people were dying, they too were improving at staying alive. But he still messed up. He’d toss a pizza at Guest1337 too late, Two Time would be too busy getting chased to be able to scoop up the pizza on the floor, sometimes he’d falsely assume Shedletsky could handle himself with his chicken before he sees the Admin’s head go flying across the map. And the delivery boy beat himself up over it everytime. What worse if that was his sister?
Infact, how badly would the experienced survivors beat themselves up if they failed to protect those they loved? They cared for eachother, but they knew they could handle themselves just fine. Those they held close outside this realm on the other hand…
“That would mean I’d have to add more killers to balance it out…” The Spectre thought aloud to themself. “They’ll be here for only a few rounds. Let them see them die over and over a few times before I send them back.” It was already scheming who in particular to take. Not too many, just enough that the killers won’t get overwhelmed.
It had little files on everyone. The little details it knew from observing before taking. It’ll just take from the first few it sees.
Make sure the ovens were all off. Count the money in the register to ensure it matched up to the sales. See what needs to be restocked for tomorrow and send the list over to Dued1 so he could send it to the suppliers.
Being the closer was nice, she supposes. Not many people here and it let her take her time. And no one would comment on her earphones.
Mia typed out the last thing on her list. As the boxer, they needed more boxes. The cooks were on a roll this afternoon, sending pizza after pizza on the conveyor belt. It was scary how fast they worked, but Mia had to admit, she herself did get too into the zone, accidentally overflowing the delivery table when she put so many pizzas on the conveyor belt that it had pushed the first one she put off the table. It was embarassing when she had to explain to the chefs they needed to remake that order because she messed up. She hoped the delivery person didn’t get an earful complaint about how long the pizza took. Elliot used to lose his patience fast when he wasn’t in customer-service mode, often ranting to Mia about how he’d get yelled at whenever he was the cashier or delivery person when it was typically rarely his fault! She remembers even seeing the chefs fumble an order before- what was supposed to be pepperoni turned to sausage- and Elliot dragging his feet to the employee breakroom after delivering it to the address with said order all over his uniform. “It’s alright, mistakes happen.” He insisted, but once he was alone with Mia, he would take the fact that they were adults that were supposed to have common sense and he would drive it into the ground. “They should’ve double checked”, “They should take this more seriously”, “Atleast don't give me a half effort apology.” Mia has to clarify, that was the fourth time that week. Once Elliot calmed down, he was as sweet as ever.
Her earphones were on halfblast as she waltzed over to one of the tables by a window out in the dining area. The chairs were already placed upside down on top of most of them, so she settled into her dubbed “favorite couch” that was closest to the counter. She remembers sitting here when waiting for her brother to finish closing up, then he’d drop her off at dad’s place and, if she could, she’d drag him inside after her to hang out. A small smile made its way onto her face. Elliot was the closest person she had during those years, even if he’d sometimes tease her about her “stereotypical antisocial teen behavior.”
The memories would come in during silence.
She turned her music up. The memories can come up later tonight in the comfort of her bedroom. No matter how loud the music was, she couldn’t push the thoughts away.
Where did he go? It was a presumed crash, but with what? The delivery motorcycle was found, it was practically spotless aside from the scratches it earned falling on its side on the street. No sign of Elliot. His phone was there, if it was a robbery, they would’ve taken that. People in nearby houses said they hadn’t seen anyone around that time aside from hearing his motorcycle pass by. Atleast one of those people would’ve said something if it was a kidnapping, right? What if it really was what she thought, that everyone in that neighborhood was in on it. “No one is that heartless”, sure, tell that to the scum of Robloxia, the dirt under people’s shoes. Murderers who take lives, kidnappers that werent too far from taking lives themselves, dont get her started on power-hungry hackers-
Her earphone was harshly pulled out. “MIA!” She flinched at her father’s voice, practically launching back into the couch with such force she almost fell under the table. Her father’s hands were on his hips, a sigh of dissapointment as he lifts one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What did I say about your music? I could hear it all the way from the entrance. You’ll go deaf like that!” He scolds, his suit that he was typically known for on as per the norm.
“You were taking a while…” She protested weakly, pausing the song- just before it got to the good part and stuffing it in her pocket. Her father stepped back just enough to let her get up to her feet. He looked up at her with little amusement, mustache concealing his frown.
He began leading her towards the door, their footsteps the only sound in the empty restaurant. “I had a meeting, you know that.” He reaches up to ruffle his daughter’s white locks, messing up the purposely messy ponytail she tied it up in. The lights seemed to flicker, Mr.Builder takes note of that to replace.
She couldn’t help the little laugh that left her throat as she playfully swats her father’s hand away. “Dad! Stop that,” She fixed it up as much as she could. “You’re gonna hurt yourself tiptoe-ing for my head like that, old man.” She loved his lighthearted offended look.
“I’ll have you know I wasn’t tiptoe-ing, and you aren’t too much older from when you last had to tiptoe for the topshelf, young lady!”
“You weren’t tiptoe-ing? You wearing heels then?” She glanced down at his shoes. Fancy black ones, as usual. They made a satisfying clack sound against the tiles, though she did prefer the heavier sounding thuds shoes like those made on the old wooden floorboards before they renovated this place.
The sounds of fancy suit shoes on tiles…
Clack
Clack
Clack
Within the blink of an eye,
Thud
How long have I looked into this?
My hair was a mess. Purple locks in a bun messier than normal. Three admins and one demolitionist had gone missing years ago. The rest of us in power poured over the case for months, years. At some point, others began losing hope. More and more asked to quit their research on the case, and others, those closest to those who went missing, grew more and more desperate. Roblox themself tried their best, but as months turned to one, two, then not long ago four years,
“We don’t know how to carry on with this.” Their voice, sounding more concerned than it's ever been for any major issue in years, muttered almost hesitantly. “We will not stop you from searching, but do not be surprised if less and less resources are put into the search.”
Thank goodness the other admins were there to hold me back, God knows they would’ve lost another on the team if I had yelled just what was on my mind. This was a setback, a bad one. As many of us grew desperate, some quietly accepted the worst possibilities. More setbacks. More failures. It was nothing but deadends.
I didn’t even change my clothes when I got home. I’ve fallen asleep in this hoodie a million times over anyways. Even after clocking out, my feet immediately drove me to my computer, something that has been part of my routine for these past few years after the incident.
He left to fight his creation. I am unsure what else happened in particular. If John lost, someone certainly would’ve told me by now. Or someone would’ve reported seeing 1x1x1x1 atleast ONCE somewhere out in Robloxia. Teams searched SFOTH, they saw traces of a battle, but nothing that could point to anything helpful beyond that. I looked into the other cases of those missing- apperantly Matt’s whole house dissapeared too? Him and John went missing on the same day, it was no coincidence. Builderman as well, though there was such little evidence everyone assumed he just forgot to call in sick one day before a day stretched into two weeks of nothing.
I turned and looked towards the rest of our bedroom. His side of the bed was clean and arranged, only when I rolled over onto his side did it ever look like someone’s actually touched it. I miss nagging him about fixing it up. I miss hearing him grumble under his breath “Telamon never had to make his bed in the morning…”
The mattress looked so inviting. You know, whenever I tried to dig deeper into these cases, rarely did I ever actually find anything. I can sleep early. Perhaps I’d find something tomorrow.
Perhaps. Perchance. Who even knows anymore.
I didn’t have to rip myself away from my computer this time. Well, I did, but it wasn’t as much of a fight as it usually was. My feet carried themselves to the bed. I should take off my shoes…
I sighed as I bent down to untie them, my face twisting into a grimace at how I remembered our carpet below my feet. Damn, I definitely tracked mud onto the thing.. Guess I gotta wash the carpet now too. I wouldn’t have to if I took my stupid shoes off in the first place.
I blinked behind my glasses. (That I apparently forgot about.)
I wouldn’t have to wash a carpet if we just had bare wooden floors.
This works too.
“My older brother had gone out to spread the word.” A loyal follower bowed their head before him in the dim church, lit only by the setting sun through one of the windows and candles decorating the stands along the sides and pillars. “He has yet to return or write back. Please pray for him, teacher.”
The orange light hit gray-ing hair through the window, making the teacher look like something holy. As he was. He offered a small, supportive smile, the same he always offered to those in the community who came to him hoping for guidance, for advice, or simply someone to listen to their struggles. “I will have him in my prayers, I promise.” Amarah bowed his head once in a nod, hands folded behind his back as he turned away to glance at the shrine at the front of the temple. His cloak swayed with the movements, ending just above the floor. “I will assure The Spawn hears your struggles, that it will guide him back to you or guide him to further its plans.”
Amarah stared at the shrine. He was used to a lighter tone to a follower’s voice after he would give reassurance. Forgive his pride, but he expected it. Yet when this young one spoke..
“Further its plans?” They echoed, stepping just a fraction closer. Not too close. Invasion of an elder’s space showed ego, that you dared consider yourself even mildly equal to someone with decades worth of wisdom. Especially true to someone of his rank. “But- forgive me, wouldn’t that entail that-”
“Yes, it would.” He was quick to cut them off, just barely looking over his shoulder. His eyes met those that were unsure, doubtful. “But if it is what The Spawn plans, who are we to deny?” The follower found the teacher stepping off the slightly raised steps just infront of the shrine to get into their space. Stepping back is an act of disrespect, it was like daring to think that you held a candle to someone older, that you had the right to demand your own space you did not yet earn from the years of work anyone older than you had. How heinous.
“Teacher-” Talking back now too? They lose more and more respect every generation these days, didn’t they? “I care deeply for The Spawn’s plans, but I care for him just as much! I wish not to lose him too, but with each passing day it feels as though my prayers are too weak, too feeble to reach The Spawn.” Their voice was practically pleading, their hands clasping together in a sign of begging, held together so desperately the tips of their fingers began to go white. “I wish not to question the greater plans, but I am not ready to be left alone. Please, may you ask The Spawn to delay just a while longer? If it is his time? I will atone and make up where I can, I will pray and sacrifice like never before-”
A cold hand came onto the pleading follower’s shoulder. “My child, I cannot simply ask The Spawn for a favor like this.” Amarah kept his voice gentle. A voice he often used to console the younger ones, even teens. He was accustomed to it. “But… I suppose I may try. I am sure it will come with a price, we both may be indebted to Its mercy-” He held their gaze once they finally lifted their head. “Especially you for having requested such in the first place,” Just the smallest curve on his mouth. His typical smile, noticeable enough, not too grand really, but it felt like a blessing to see. The type of smile that assured you he would try where he could, but you had your own weight to pull as well. A very specific type of smile.
“But worry not, I will atone alongside you. I will ask for Its guidance to bring him home, and if such will be granted, I will accompany you when you show your gratitude.”
The follower’s form remained tense despite his words, but they nod wordlessly. This was already a big favor they were asking, I mean, is the idea of telling your God to put a pause to their agenda really an easy thing?
The church soon only had Amarah within, the sun almost completely set which left the priest to rely on the candles as light for his prayers before he returned to his home. It didn’t matter, the prayers had made themselves at home in his brain years ago, the scriptures could fall effortlessly from his tongue in his sleep if so needed.
“Protect the young one’s brother, for I believe he is working hard to ensure your word reaches those who would normally never dare listen,” Amarah adds, hands in position on top of his chest where his heart is. “They wish to see him alive and well once he returns. I believe, Great Spawn, that your mercy and love for us will ensure his safety in travels. We shall compensate for this wish with our everlasting devotion to you.” There was a chance that most would roll their eyes at being promised something they already had, but The Spawn was a kind being. Amarah was sure it would consider an exception or two.
Exceptions?
You were typically meant to relax when praying, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and show your trust in The Spawn’s protection. The thoughts that entered shamefully made Amarah stiffen like he was held at gunpoint, like he was unsafe despite The Spawn’s invisible but undeniable existence. His hair blew softly in the closed off church.
Exceptions. Amarah knew better than to doubt The Spawn, especially after having just prayed- or well, having NOT ended his prayer yet. Amarah has heard a beg or plead for exceptions several times before, especially from younger, more curious, cowardly ones. They feared death and losing those closest to them, they all always seemed to. “What if he hasn’t earned the second life yet?”, “If The Spawn grants this to me, what about him?”,”Must I really do this to him to ascend myself?” Amarah never doubted the protection and promise of ascension to his second life, and he doesn’t plan to start today. He’s seen doubt and unfaithfulness drive even those who seemed most devoted to the brink, and he wants no part in it.
Knees popped as he raised from his kneeling position and properly ending the prayer by taking his two hands off his chest. He turned on his heel, setting off to blow out all the candles and lock up the church. It was chilly today, would there be snow or rain? Was there mist again? Wind blew his hair out of it’s organised set-
“My Child.”
The priest froze at the indescribable voice that rang out. It came from nowhere and everywhere. Amarah whipped back around to face the front of the church, the shrine that had gathered flowers and offerings over the years as impressive as ever.
Brown leaves and plants that were due for a replacement stood wilted beside the frame that had the huge, intricate symbol of his God. The frame had flowers, dots, swirls, and otherwordly symbols etched into the wood, the doing of one of the previous heads of the commune that came maybe a century before Amarah. The Spawn Symbol itself was the most detailed, while the Symbol was usually simplified into something reminiscent of an intricate sun, the lineart done for this one would curve and swirl and bend in thin lines that mimicked thick ones. It showed life, while not linear or coherent, was always planned out from the start and spiralled out still under The Spawn's control of course. You could put your faith into this symbol, everyone in the community had.
Amarah had seen it many times before, it wasn't new. What was new was the gust of wind that rushed past him, disturbing the elegant sway of his robes and hair and messing it up, unfit appearance for someone with such a high rank. The candles blew out, leaving him in darkness for just the briefest of moments before the Symbol in the frame began to slowly glow from the inside leading out.
“You prayed for safety, correct?”
Embarrassingly, he stayed frozen a moment too long. He must've looked like a deer in headlights, making a fool of himself infront of his God. He swiftly knelt back down, bowing his head humbly. This is actually happening?
What is he thinking, of course this was happening! He just couldn't believe it was happening to HIM.
“Yes, for everyone in the community,” He ensured his voice was confident, unwavering. No sign of weakness infront of The Spawn. “And… Specifically for that travelling believer. That child earlier cares deeply for him.” Said voice turned a tad meek, however. How risky actually WAS it to ask for a favor like this?
The room felt heavy. His God had no expression, but he could sense the silent disappointment. “You understand that if it were in my plans to allow him his ascension, you are delaying him?” The priest would pray for his soul if it wasn't The Spawn Itself that was mad at him. “Delaying me?”
“Of course! Of course I understand-” From his knees, he bowed his head until his forehead touched the ground. “Please forgive my demands, I am in no place to ask anything of you.”
The voice went silent for a while too long. Spawn- (maybe don't use It's name in vain right now when It's already pissed at him) Amarah wishes his back wouldn't hurt so easily like this. It makes asking for forgiveness a bit difficult, not ideal in this situation.
“If you wish for my forgiveness and for me to continue blessing this commune, lest I doom all your souls to damnation at the hands of this fragile singular life,” The priest didn't lift his head, doing so without being told was disrespect to those above you. “I have a way for you to make your amends to me. The order is tall, but unless you wish for your soul to wither in a snap like a dead plant..”
No further words needed to be spoken. Simply at the thought of forgiveness was he already willing to follow. Though, the threat did help The Spawn did drive It's point home.
“You will follow my word and instructions,” It felt like something was lifting his gaze from his uncomfortable kneel on the floor to look up at the mystical looking glow of his God's symbol. “Just as you always have.”
Going from laying on your soft mattress to an incredibly worn and rough couch is a shock to everyone, naturally. He honestly thought the dullness of having a boring office job was making him hallucinate textures in a desperate attempt at something new and different. But when he opened his eyes, instead of seeing his smooth white ceiling, he sees a log roof with a wooden support beam along the center. The sounds of busy traffic outside his window was replaced by a crackling fireplace. And there was a drakkobloxer head on said fireplace too for some reason.
He blinked once. Twice. Still the same in front of him. He pushed up onto his feet, his shoes (that he didnt bother to kick off) making a heavy thud against the wooden floor.
Another thud. Another footstep.
He quickly whipped around, seeing the entrance to this odd cabin he found himself in. The door was shut, but there were two other Robloxians who were midstep before suddenly appearing out of nowhere.
“What the-” A man with a mustache in a suit and hardhat seemed to freeze, a slightly taller young woman with white hair stood beside him in utter confusion. Was that one of the BuilderBrothers?
Before he could even open his mouth, a woman tying(or untying?) Her shoes appeared just beside the couch, her purple hair and jacket a stark contrast to the neutral tones of the wood and furniture. Was that an admin!?
Before any of them could get their words out, a beam of light shot out from just below a set of stairs, a pale man in a fancy looking robe with long hair stepping out cautiously.
Us five stared at eachother. Or more like us first four stared at the guy who came from whatever the hell that holy light just now was.
“Is this..” The man in robes looked around the cabin with furrowed brows as he began to speak. “The.. trial?”
“The what??” The purple haired woman- (that was DEFINITELY that one admin that almost caught his cousin years ago) finally found her voice, raising from her knelt position on the floor.
“The trial…” The man repeated. “The one The Spawn created?” He spoke slowly, his posture tense and unsure, like he was on thin ice if he said the wrong thing.
“The spawn?”
“The Spawn! The one who-”
With a bang, the previously shut door to this odd cabin burst open. A man with pale skin and blue hair (A Guest?) Stood on the other side with a wood chair held by the legs in his hands raised above his head. He wore a black tank top that has definitely seen better days with black jogging pants, eyes wide and alert despite still having that weird sleepcrust in the corners. Behind him there was a blonde man with long unkempt hair watching warily, his eyes widening less out of wariness and confusion but more out of some kind of shock.
“Who's there!?” The Guest account spoke. (He swears they couldn't-)
“Elliot!?”