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Katie glares down at her dice, offended at them for betraying her. She and 4C were playing Farkle in the tavern, her having stood in frustration a few games ago, and 4C, seemingly incapable of sitting in a chair for more than 5 seconds, was currently hanging upside down from a rafter, and yet out of 5 games she had only won one of them. She knew her luck with Farkle was bad, but this was absurd. They had been playing to 3 thousand, and the only round she had won, she had gotten a 4 thousand point round, winning by pure chance rather than any kind of strategy.
“Haveth you talketh-ed to Nom lately-eth?” 4C jumps down to roll his dice, storing a 5 dice straight without comment, then passing the turn to her. Here 4C was, winning by a mile yet he refused to even gloat about it. It was like the game was second nature to him, a background noise he could do absent mindedly. His moves were that of a practiced dancer, one who has rehearsed so many times they no longer have to think when doing their routine. The conversation took up the majority of his attention, joking casually as he always did, even as they sat on opposite sides of a war. He jumped around as usual, unable to sit still while waiting, both for his turn and her reply.
“I haven’t-eth,” she replied, continuing the “-eth” joke despite how long it had been going on now. In fact, the last time they had talked, even her brother, Nom, was playing along. She rolled out her dice, exclaiming in frustration when the roll was immediately a farkle.
4C just laughed, rolling his dice and rolling a 6 dice straight. She looked back down at the scoring sheet, that blue, glittering cursive showing 2900. She groaned dramatically, looking at her own score that had yet to leave the triple digits. 4C just smiled and cashed in the one, leaving him with exactly the winning score.
Katie blinked, confused, she was sure 4C would keep going just to show off, yet he only did the bare minimum. Now that she was thinking about it, he almost seemed bored of the game entirely. Was she that bad?
“I’m gonna go exploring with Mae, wanna come with?” he asked, bouncing between the backs of the chairs they hadn’t been using while playing, landing on each with the grace Kitty is more known for, not disturbing or unbalancing the chairs despite the weight behind each movement. “I want to explore the entire region to make sure I didn’t miss anything cool.”
It was then that it clicked for Katie, watching 4C climb back onto a rafter effortlessly before adjusting his cloak to ensure it hadn't been disturbed by his movement, 4C was bored of the game. She honestly doesn’t think it would be possible for him not to be given she is sure he’s played over well over 500 games by this point. She doesn’t really believe the claim that God of all people had made him play so religiously, but regardless of why, he’s definitely played more than anyone else, except maybe Nominal. She wasn’t actually sure what his stats were, just that his gaze grows a bit distant and his laugh a bit empty when anyone asks.
“Nah, I needed to get stuff done at red kingdom today, but if you're still on later I’ll swing by,” she said, watching him leave silently with a quick goodbye, the night sky outside allowing him to vanish into the night with minimal effort.
4C stared silently at the dice, no longer surprised, just dejected. He watched the clone of his best friend win, again and again. Its movements were jerky and its eyes vacant, nothing but a puppet and a shadow of the man it pretended to be. His god had stopped even pretending to play fair, and 4C had no choice but to keep rolling his dice until he was allowed to stop. His god chose when he was finished playing, not him.
A sinister laugh rang out. “I thought you were good at this. Nominal would laugh if he was here. How can you be this bad?” The voice echoed and bounced despite there being no walls, but he was sure there were invisible ones, like the roof he had hit earlier, it sounded as if it was everywhere at once. “Imagine how they’ll laugh when you tell them: how long it took you to beat someone once.”
He can't even say the god was wrong. This was a pathetic display, and it was entirely his own fault he’s here. The heat of the hell around him was unbearable, stealing the moisture his body desperately needed, causing him to function slower and slower. He’s honestly thankful the god had placed a parkour challenge first, even if it had taken hours, he wasn’t sure he would be able to reach even the third jump with his now melting limbs. 4C’s vision blurs as the table resets.
“Try again. You might get at least a thousand this time.”
“I’ll be right back.” Nominal scanned his inventory, mentally cataloging everything he’d need more of. He’d definitely need another shield, barging breaks them fast. He was also running low on diamonds, so he’d need to go out for more soon, and his armor was in need of repair. He should pick up some food on the way as well, maybe some for 4C as well? “Since we’re doing the arena, do you need anything?”
4C snapped to attention, eyes straightening where they had been drifting out of alignment within his head in his zoning out. He stared in confusion for a second. “Huh?” he asked, but before Nom could even open his mouth to repeat himself, 4C had actually processed the question. “Oh! Definitely food,” he answers, then scans his inventory. “Maybe a spare set of armor?”
By the time Nom had made it back to the arena with everything they needed, 4C was sitting cross-legged on the awning. Nom throws half of the food and the spare armor on the ground, and 4C jumps down to grab it.
4C pauses for a moment, “Uh…” Nom focuses his attention on him, confused. “This is iron armor.”
Nom processes, then brings his hand up to smack his forehead. He lets out a self deprecating laugh, “I’ll be back… again.”
However, before he can leave, 4C interrupts him, “Don’t worry about it.” He closes his inventory with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’ll only be doing easy so this set should be fine.” 4C makes his way over to Cleo, who had been watching the exchange silently, amusement written across her face. Without a word, 4C flicks a gold coin towards her, and she catches it out of the air easily. Nom had never asked how the two knew each other, but it had somehow been before he had met the slime.
Nom rolls his eyes at 4C’s impatience but hands a coin to Cleo all the same. She nods at him with a smile and presses the button to open the gate.
It was on the 4th round that he noticed it, just barely audible over the sound of his sword hitting flesh, the tell-tale noise of armor yielding to an attack. His attention wavers, a mistake he so rarely makes, and yet it takes only once to be devastating. He cries out as the sword from one of the pillagers finds a home in the seam of his armor.
He grits his teeth, grabbing the mob’s wrist with his free hand and using the handle of his sword to disarm it. The crack of breaking bones barely even registers in his mind and he’s already twisting his blade to split the pillager’s head from its body.
The body drops and he staggers, clutching at the wound in his side and wincing as he notices how bad it is. He can feel the blood soaking through his leather gloves.
A pillager grunt causes him to snap back to attention, his sword coming up in an ineffective parry given one hand is unavailable. He sags in relief when he sees 4C, dual daggers stabbed into the back of a pillager. The body drops and 4C walks over it as if it wasn’t there, Nom is mildly surprised not to hear any bones breaking from it.
What does shock him is the armor 4C is wearing. This helmet and boots must have been what he heard break, because those pieces were now iron. Yet, 4C does not seem slowed down in the slightest, walking at the same speed he always does, and, when he notices 2 mobs left in the round, effortlessly climbing a tree as if the weight was nothing.
Later, when Nom asks, 4C will say he had forgotten he was even wearing iron.
4C was tired. Every part of his body felt heavy, and it wasn’t just exhaustion. The first time 4C had completed the parkour course, it had taken him 6 hours. Then he had to do it again. And again. And again. Each time in heavier armor.
“Poor 4C, too weak to even carry his armor. You wanted to wear heavy armor, so deal with the weight,” the god mocks.
4C pulled himself up from the floor, reformed as much as he could, and tried again.
He had to.
Mae isn’t sure she enjoys being queen. She’s a rogue, she lives in the shadows, but this title places her front and center. People constantly want her attention, constantly asking for help or advice, asking questions she doesn’t know the answer to. It makes her skin crawl, being observed so much. It makes her want to move into the sewers, she’s sure 4C would come with her if she did.
One thing people forget about rogues is that they watch. Their playing around and antics distract from it, but a rogue is nothing if not observant. When she jokingly attacks Nom with seemingly reckless abandon, it’s easy to miss that every attack was calculated to fail. Poorly crafted and dull blades bounced off armour and shield while missing every crack and dent in the defense. When she fails to pickpocket over and over again, it’s easy to forget how good she actually is at it. Lightened pockets, only noticed when it’s the most funny.
4C gets it, like she gets him. He notices every calculated “mistake,” because he does the same. Footsteps that only make sound when he wants them to and getaways only thwarted when it’s a friend chasing.
4C sees her, and she sees him in turn.
She still remembers those 6 hours he was missing, when he returned with eyes of the dead that had arisen after centuries. She can admit to being bitter about not being the first to find him, because Katie and Apo weren’t helping. She can also admit to being a bit clingy after that.
So when she spots him working on decorating the castle, she runs over. She makes no effort to make noise, he’ll know she is there regardless. When she gets next to him, her hand slips effortlessly into his pocket, reaching for one of the blocks he was building with. What are you working on? He catches her hand before she can grab it. She frowns, ever since his trip to hell he has been much more jumpy and quicker at catching her, but worse at pickpocketing himself. Others may not notice, but she sees how clumsy he has gotten at it.
4C’s eyes are lacking some of their structure, his entire body melting with exhaustion, unable to hold his form as well as it normally would. Not in the mood.
Mae’s brow furrows in concern, pulling her hand out of 4C’s light hold and interlocking their fingers instead, bringing their intertwined hands down to their sides. She holds eye contact with him, a deep frown on her face. Are you okay?
4C’s eyes swirl around in a dramatic equivalent to rolling his eyes. I’m fine. To contradict his assurances, he nearly melts into Mae’s hold, more absorbing her hand than he was holding it.
She raises an eyebrow, her eyes becoming deadpan. You sure about that?
4C’s eyes flick to the floor sheepishly, before looking at her crown and then her eyes. Don’t you have duties to be doing?
Mae tightens her hold on his hand and glares. More important than you? No.
4C’s eyes flatten in the closest thing to a smile this melted form can achieve, because sometimes humanity is too complicated.
They finish decorating the room together, hands still interlocked, working as a single unit, and trading materials through pickpocketing when they have an idea. They both pretend it isn’t an excuse to help 4C get comfortable at it again.
When they finish 4C’s form is less of an exhausted melt, keeping his inhuman shape in a show of trust and comfort rather than inability to do much else.
Thank you. He says, with nothing but a glance.
You're welcome. She replies, with nothing but a squeeze of her hand.
When 4C finally gets released he is exhausted, terrified, and has a sinking empty feeling in his chest that he just knows means he is missing parts of himself.
He wants Mae.