Archive of Our Own

I’m not really sure how to describe it– not really. Although I’ve been told I’m good at describing things. Quite often, really. Maybe it’s because I love talking– I’m always saying one thing or another, chattering about– I’m avoiding speaking about it. I need to just… Talk.

It was all very innocent at first. All we wanted to do was help the server, help each other, help ourselves. Ren had the enchanting table, crafted it with his own calloused hands. It was beautiful, it was, and so delicately made, and what it symbolized was so important. In a world where we were all terrified of death, it promised safety.

People died that first night. I guess we didn’t truly recognize how terrifying it is to have your lives limited. We had gotten so used to frolicking in worlds where our deaths didn’t mean anything, and suddenly, the threat of permadeath was looming, and the sun was setting, and we were all– Well, we were all scared. Very scared.

The Enchanting Table was supposed to be shared, of course, but you know how business goes. So Ren and I, along with others– Etho, BigB, Skizz– settled into that base, and we called it home. But quickly, our thoughts moved away from the Enchanting Table.

You see, we all had shifted comfortably into our roles, trying our best to survive the nights and brave the days. But the rules of the Game still hung over our heads, and, hey, who doesn’t want to win? Of course we all wanted to win. And as people started dying, we got nervous. The prospect of being on red was something none of us wanted to face. Perhaps that’s why Ren ended up suggesting… it.

He had died just a little while earlier, you see. Scar, already red due to his own, very on-character misfortune, had set a trap. I’m not exactly sure why. We had had our little feuds between our groups, but I had never thought it as serious, or even worth fighting them over that much. We were just having fun, messing around. Or so we thought. Scar turning red was probably the tipping point of the server, now that I look back at it.
So Ren turned red in an explosion that stretched up to the sky. I saw it happen, you know. I heard Grian’s laughter, cackling shrieks that ripped through the still air that followed the explosion. I saw the embers and dust and ash float down, and I felt my communicator buzz, and I didn’t want to look down at it. I was– I guess I was in shock, you know? But Ren had died, and I didn’t know how to react. I saw Grian and Scar darting off, elated, but they had just killed my best friend. I was… I was frozen.

And just like that, Ren was on yellow. But it didn’t end there.

They set more traps. They attacked us. And admittedly, we did partake in a little bit of revenge– but not that much. I know, now, that being Red changed Scar. And probably changed Grian a little bit along the way; those two were always attached at the hip. Believe me, I know what being red is like intimately. And I understand Grian, too– We were horrible, bitter enemies by the end, but I recognized his position. I recognized him. I saw him when I looked in the mirror.

So they attacked us again, and killed us off, and ran away giggling as if it were a fun joke. And in the aftermath of their attacks, we stood there, ears ringing and soot settling on our tarnished armour.

It’s been years, and I still remember those moments. The arrows whistling nearly by my ears, the earth-shattering explosions that kicked mud and sand into my eyes. The pounding in my chest, thrumming in my ears, the way my hands were clenched white-knuckled on the worn grip of my sword. Even now, thinking of it, adrenaline rushes through me as if I’m still there. As if I’m still standing in that stupid base, smoke obscuring my vision, terrified that my Ren– my King– was dead.

I’m being stupid. Anyway.

So that came and went. And Ren came up with a solution. My King came up with a solution. He was a king, and I was his loyal hand, and I thought the world of him by then. But importantly, he was still Ren. He was still my friend. He still smiled at me, yellow eyes crinkling around the edges. He still went through the same ritual every morning– tucking his unruly brown hair into a low ponytail, bowing slightly down so that I could place the crown on his head, as he towered over me. He still allowed me to tie the cape around his armoured shoulders, and he flashed sharp, familiar, white teeth at me in a smile as I did so. He was still there.

But after that attack, when he found me in the smoke, something had shifted. In both of us. He gripped my shoulders tight, large hands finding the spaces between diamond plates, gripping my flesh in reassurance as he stared at me desperately, drinking in the sight of me. As if he couldn’t believe that I were standing there before him. And I can’t blame him for that expression, for that desperation, because I do believe I was feeling it back, a hundred times stronger. I had been so sure that he had vanished forever into that horrible, black cloud of our base. Somehow, despite him being on his yellow life, I was sure that he was dead, permanently.
My heart was beating out of my chest, and I’m sure he could feel it with how tightly he was gripping my shoulders. His face was streaked with soot, tanned skin splattered with blood and dust and soot and fear, and he opened his mouth to speak.

I thought that he would say something about our base. Maybe he would blame me for not doing my job, for not protecting us. Perhaps he would ask after our teammates. Skizz was dead; this I know. He was probably waking up in his base at that very moment, rubbing his head and shaking himself out to retrieve what was left of his items.

Instead, Ren looked me in the eyes, and he said… I remember it exactly.

He said, “Martyn, I need you to kill me.”

I thought he was joking, at first. I truly did. I laughed in his face, lifting trembling hands to grip his arms where they rested on me. I told him back, I would not, not when he had so narrowly just escaped death. But his eyes were dead serious.

He explained his reasoning, and with every added word, I became convinced he had hit his head in the battle. That, or maybe I was hallucinating. Ironically, that part comes later.

He told me that we needed to respond to these attacks. That we needed to strike back, or they would keep coming back, keep killing us. Keep taking from us until we were dead permanently, and they would laugh while they slaughtered us. I looked him dead in his eyes, in his dandelion yellow eyes, and told Ren, my King, to fuck off. I wasn’t going to kill him! We could find other ways to retaliate. Skizz was already red, I told him. Skizz could attack.

Ren, fairly enough, didn’t take that seriously. Truthfully, I didn’t either. Skizz was passionate, yes, but that was about it. His combat skills were… lacking. I told Ren, still, I wouldn’t kill him. That instead, he could kill me, and I would take the role on. I would get revenge on Grian and Scar and their alliance. I could do it.

Naturally, he refused. I had known it was illogical when I suggested it, and yet, I still did out of desperation. Killing me twice, taking both of my lives, was the worst option available to him. But not to me. For me, I would have killed the entire server before taking a sword to Ren’s stomach. The idea of spilling his blood– of his life in my hands– I couldn’t.

I did, anyway. You probably know that. Everybody knows that. It’s all anybody thinks of when they picture me. The man who killed his best friend, the Hand that slaughtered his own King. The Traitor of Dogwarts. Ren convinced me. I’m not exactly sure how. Perhaps he just asked, and I did it, my natural bloodthirsty, hungry, animalistic nature shining through. Perhaps he begged for days, and I relented out of fear for the future. Perhaps I was weak to his desires. Perhaps he just asked, and I was so used to being his hand, to doing what I thought would be right for him, that I just followed what he asked out of habit.
It matters not, not for this. Ultimately, here’s the truth: I did what he asked, and he handed me an axe, and knelt on the chopping block.

And there I was. In the middle of our base, with my King kneeling before me, and an axe in my hands, and the weight of the world, his life, hanging in the balance. It was snowing at that point, late autumn settling in, and the small flakes had settled into his hair, adorning it delicately. They rested on my lashes and my face, melting into smaller droplets that stung my skin.

There was wind blowing, the wheat shifting in it, but I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear anything. All I could see was him, and the axe in my hands, glinting in the light of the obscured sun. All I could see were his lips, mouthing out something calmly, repeatedly. A phrase. I’m not quite sure what; I never asked. Perhaps it was a phrase of reassurance. Perhaps a prayer. Maybe it was just asking me to get it over with, to put him out of this misery so he could rise again, stronger. Yet another request I failed to fulfill for him, yet another way I let him down.

No matter what he was saying, it fell on deaf ears. All I could truly hear was the ringing that echoed in my ears, that had been playing loudly since that explosion had rattled me. That, and the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears, pumping wildly in my traitorous veins as my pale hands shook on the grip of the axe.

If I had thought I was scared during that battle, that explosion, I was wrong. I was so wrong. I have never felt such fear before, and I do not think I have felt it since. How could I, Ren’s hand, bring the axe down on his neck? How could I tear apart that gentle skin? How could I cut short his life, the same life I had sworn so passionately to protect, to preserve, at risk even to myself?

I could not.

I could. I did.

I will not share with you the gruesome details; they are not necessary. All I will tell you is that the axe fell not once, but twice, as even with all of the strength in my body, and all the passion I had to spare him excess pain, you cannot make up for the dullness in a blade.

All I will say is that his blood has haunted my dreams ever since, and his muted scream– stifled, trying to protect me– has replaced the ringing in my ears. And that I dropped that axe, looking at his body– still mangled, mangled by my own hands, and my own cruelty– and I ran.

I have always been a coward, despite what Ren tries to tell me. I am a coward, and I was scared, and horrified, and so, so guilty. I ran away, bursting through the gates of the fort and leaving red footprints and handprints as my cruel body stumbled down the path. I dashed madly for what felt like eternity, although the base never faded from view, and landed hard on the ground when I eventually tripped clumsily on a rock.

The snow had begun to build, flakes larger and heavier landing on the ground, forming a thin white coating. I lay there, in that field just outside the base, painting the pure snow red with my guilt. The long grass around me, or at least the blades that I hadn’t trampled, swayed in the wind. I still couldn’t hear it.

I did not cry. I didn’t even scream. I think I just lay there, staring at that blank, endless sky. I’m not sure how long it was. The blood of my mistake, of my guilt, of my King was freezing and drying on my hands in equal parts. It was splattered across my clothes, too, and I do believe if I had had the presence to register smell, I would have reeked of iron.

My skin was burning and cramping where the blood was tightening across my skin, but I welcomed it, lying there and letting snow settle and soak into me. Perhaps, if I stayed there for long enough, it would cover the traces of my transgressions. Perhaps, if I stayed there for eternity, I could leave the world untouched by my guilt, my selfishness.

Of course, he found me. How could he not?

I didn’t hear him coming, hardly saw him coming. One second, I was alone, blessedly, deservedly. The next, there was a hand on my shoulder, and a concerned face blinking down at me. A face I knew, but with something else. Red eyes.

Red eyes I had placed there. And in that moment, I knew that life was never going to be the same again.

His brown hair was loose, ragged curls hanging around his face as he stared down at me. His crown was missing. And his eyes were red.

I can’t possibly explain what happened next. Not because I’m too sore at the memory, nor because I tremble to recall it– I just can’t quite describe it. This unfortunately becomes a common theme for the rest of that horrible, horrible winter. At times, I think one thing happens, and then another at the same time. Times become mixed up in my head, faces blurred. I cannot quite recall who took my final breath, in the end– maybe it was Grian, or Scar, or someone else entirely. Perhaps I tripped over my feet onto my own sword. I do not know.

What I think happened that day, when Ren held out his hand for me to take, I will share. I believe that he held out that strong, scarred hand, nails chipped and palms raw, and I dazedly took it, allowing him to haul me to my feet. I am fairly sure that he smiled at me, a ragged smile of sharp teeth– sharper than I recalled– torn lips, and blood red eyes. I looked at his face, at my King, and I saw him and not him, all at once. I saw that he looked younger, and yet three times more aged. I saw the scar that slashed frighteningly across his neck, and I saw his clear skin, blemish-free, rising and falling with each breath.

You can tell, from this, that I was addled. That I probably am addled. Perhaps that’s the most logical explanation for what follows in this story. Contradictions, I’m afraid, plagued me for the rest of my life. My lives.

He said something to me, in that deep voice of his, that I vaguely registered. I nodded. I looked down at our joined arms, where my hand was gripping his forearm desperately, and I saw the blood that was now staining his own skin. His blood. He was injury-free yet stained with his own blood, and where it was not staining his skin, it was flaking from my own, fluttering down in mock snowflakes.

In that moment, I felt revulsion. Not for him, never for him. Just for my own actions, and my hands, and that axe that likely still lay on the stone steps of our base, coated in his blood. I looked up at him, prepared to apologize, but he just smiled at me, pulling me into a hug that was warm and too hot, and I let him, because I do believe if he told me to jump off a cliff, I would do it before his sentence had finished.

That night, he forced me to go to rest before him. I think that he was anxious, his skin thrumming with potential. He seemed not to feel the cold that was sinking over the world, not through the heated bloodlust that consumed his being. He had smiled at me, in that field, and said, “Thank you, Martyn. Red Winter has come.” As I robotically sank into my bed, Ren humming in the background, that’s the first time I saw it.

A figure outside the window.

Large, muscular, with strands of hair hanging down from a golden crown. Red eyes, scarred hands clenched into fists, just barely visible in the darkness. v
I sat up, darted to the glass– but it was gone.

And Ren’s humming continued.

That was the first time I saw it, but not the last. In the days that followed, I began to see it more and more in my peripheral vision. As I was shovelling snow from our pathway, It stood in the treeline. Watching me. But as I straightened to examine it, it had already disappeared.

I saw It once in the mines, as I was straining under the weight of the coal I carried. It was watching me from the shadows, waiting, deadly still. Thought it was Ren. It looked… so much like him. But when I called out his name, took a hesitant step forward… he vanished. It vanished.

I never told Ren. Of course I didn’t. He was worried enough about me as it was, and being red had put him viciously on edge, in a way I had never seen before. He was constantly jumpy, quick to pull out a weapon at the faintest sign of trouble. And the way he and Scar looked at each other… It was like they wanted to tear each other apart. If Grian and I had been amusedly concerned before, now we were… so, so scared. So I decided that maybe the server was making me lose my marbles, but that wasn’t Ren’s problem; that was my problem. So I ignored his concerned glances and the way he began to walk on eggshells around me, and admittedly, I began avoiding him too.

That just made what happened next more complicated.

You see, It didn’t start with attacking me. It started by–

Let me begin by saying that I knowRen. I know him so, entirely, impossibly well. I could recognize him in pitch blackness by the timbre of his voice. I would pick out his figure in a crowd of people in identical clothing. That’s what happens when you spend all of your time with someone, when you dedicate your lives to someone. I know Ren. But that thing… that thing knew him too.

I was ignoring him, and the days were so long, and I guess we both changed very quickly. My hair was dull and stringy, and my bruises stayed on my skin for days, weeks. And I didn’t see Ren all that much, as I buried myself into work and avoided him– So I guess I was more susceptible to being tricked. And I was a fool. A horrible, selfish fool.

It was three days after the execution. I had begun to find myself again, begun to be able to pick up my own axe without the memory of how it felt to cut through– well, you know. And Etho had discarded that horrible sacrificial weapon, although I felt I could still see it, on occasion, as I walked through that courtyard.

I was collecting wood to fuel our fires, as at that point, the temperatures had dropped well below freezing, even at midday. Etho was off… doing something; I had no clue where Ren was, and I think BigB and Skizz were off to try and talk Joel into rejoining the army. I was still out of it at that point, and Ren had taken over with organization. The days were a bit of a blur to me; I honestly forget half of what happened.

This state of confusion was what put me at a disadvantage. Normally, I’d hear someone walking from a mile away. It’s a talent I have, you see. My hearing is very sensitive. I can even pick out who’s coming toward me from their footsteps. But this time, I didn’t hear Ren until he was right behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped, naturally, dropping my axe and whipping around. And isn’t that something? Before, even when I wasn’t in such a warlike frenzy along with the rest of the server, I would never drop my weapon if I was surprised. My survival skills aren’t that bad. Regardless, the diamond blade clattered to the floor beside me, and I looked up at Ren’s face in shock.

He gave me a concerned glance, letting go of me to lean down and pick up my axe. He held it out to me handle first, but I shook my head violently, refusing to take it from him. I couldn’t, you know, I just– I couldn’t. He was understanding, lowering my axe to his side and tilting his head at me gently.

He asked me if I was alright, and I told him that yeah, I was fine. That I was just a little bit jumpy. Scared of Grian and Scar sneaking up on us again. He frowned in sympathy, and something guilty inside me grew two times heavier. I just couldn’t tell him that my nightmares included his face, you know? He was already doing enough for us. I couldn’t put my problems on his shoulders as well.

He pulled me in for a hug, and I just went for it. I guess I had missed talking to people, interacting with others. The last few days I had buried myself so deep into work that I hadn’t had time to talk to anyone, much less my King. I was so distracted during the hug that I almost didn’t notice him pulling out his sword.

I did, though. Turns out living in a war will do that to you, and even if I was in the business of dropping weapons, I wasn’t about to drop my sword. I jerked away, expecting him to be fending off a mob, or one of our enemies, or for there to be some reasonable explanation for Ren to be pulling out his sword on me– but there was nothing. And he was looking at me, hand clenched tightly on his bejewelled sword grip.

I didn’t really know how to react. I said his name, once or twice. Asked him what was wrong, but he just stared at me with those awful red eyes. Eyes the same colour as the blood that I had spilled. But they were… wrong.

I’m not sure how to describe him. His smile was too wide. His eyes were too red. His teeth too sharp. He was so human, and so inhuman at once. It triggered a primal instinct in me to run— to flee from someone that I had never feared before.

But then, faster than I’d ever seen Ren move before, he lunged.

That was one of the most vicious fights I’ve ever walked out of. See, the other people on the servers– they’re not useless at PvP, for the most part. Some can hold their own; some are better than others– but nobody’s a prodigy. That’s what makes it fun. But the way Ren was fighting? It was unnatural. He’s never swung a sword that violently before, never twisted it with such precision. He was looking to hurt me, to kill me, and all I could do was barely keep myself alive. He got good swipes and cuts in, slashing at my sides and my throat, and I barely managed to keep my vital organs and limbs in one piece.

Now, let’s get this straight. I may be crazy, may be losing my mind. Maybe I’ve already lost it. I wouldn’t be surprised. But what I do know is that that wasn’t Ren. Ren doesn’t fight like that. He goes for heavy blows, he talks during fights, and tries to pull out a bow if you back away slightly. I love Ren to bits, but he’s a coward, and he’s never been great in combat. Like, at all. So that thing, that was fighting me, and trying to tear my throat out?

That wasn’t Ren.

I must have been shouting, or maybe it was just the clang of the metal, but there was a flash of movement in my peripheral as we fought. As our blades bounced off of each other and I frantically deflected his blow, we both stumbled back momentarily, and I looked up.

Etho was there, mismatched eyes wide as he stared at me. His sword hung loosely in his hand, shield lowered, and I barely summoned up the breath to shout at him for help. Immediately after, I was raising my sword once again to block the fatal blow I was sure was coming— but there was nothing there.

Like, nothing. No Ren, no weapons, not even footprints. Just empty air and swirling snowflakes.

I think I blacked out for half a second in disbelief. When I looked up again, Etho was standing in front of me, taking in the scene with wide eyes. My bloodied skin, the red-stained snow around me. The tree I had been backed into, slashed by Ren’s sword. The force behind his blows had sent woodchips flying into the snow around me as well. It looked like a fight had taken place. Because one had. I swear. I’m not crazy.

When Etho asked me what had happened, I didn’t know what to say. That the King had tried to kill me? That he had lured me into a hug and then tried to stab me in the back? I think I ended up mumbling something nonsensical, and then I walked aimlessly off into the fields, away from Dogwarts. No other footsteps were leading from the scene. Ren had just… vanished.

I had holed myself up in some sort of cave, determined to stay there overnight, when I heard his footsteps once again. He skulked in through the cave entrance, bending down to fit his tall frame through the tight entry. I shot to my feet, conflict humming in my veins as I hesitantly raised my sword. His eyes widened, and he raised his two hands in a display of surrender. He was weaponless. Although I didn’t know what he had under his cape.

I hadn’t been putting on his armour for the last couple of days, either. I used to know what was on him, used to know every piece of equipment he carried, down to the last jewel on his crown. Now, I had no clue. I was in the dark. Blind.

In the torchlight, he looked innocent. Unassuming. He lowered himself to the ground, back exposed to the open sky beyond the cave, and the hairs on my arms stood up. Not for my safety, no. Stupidly, I was scared for him. He’s always been reckless, far too reckless for his own good. I kept my sword in hand, partially to show him I wasn’t letting my guard down, but more so that I could protect him should a mob sneak up behind us.

I have always been weak. Especially when it comes to protecting his life.
He told me that he didn’t know what had come over him. That he hadn’t planned for that to happen, that he had no idea what possessed him to pull out that sword. That he was so, so, so sorry and that he was wallowing in guilt.

He has no idea what guilt is.

He told me that it would not happen again, that it was a lapse in his own sanity. He said that he had better control of it. Would dedicate it to our enemies, and not toward me. He told me, with a cracking voice and pleading eyes, that should he ever aim to harm me again, I could kill him unapologetically. I knew, immediately, that that would be impossible.

I believed him. Of course, I believed him. How could I not? I dedicated my entire life to Ren. One look, one command from him, and I would be at his side.

I was weak.

I am weak.

He promised me it wouldn’t happen again. That I didn’t need to be alone. That we could head back to Dogwarts, and that he would keep me safe. That we could stay allied.

I believed him.

He tried to stab me on the walk back, in the small of my back. I twisted away at the last minute, and his sword went left, slashing through the side and leaving a gaping hole in my flesh. When I bolted, not looking back, I could swear I heard him crash through the underbrush behind me. His boots snapping the twigs, his cape catching on leaves.

I’m a smart runner. I don’t look back.

When I reached the entrance to Dogwarts, rocketing through it and slamming the gate behind me, I looked back into the darkness.

There was nothing there.

BigB found me limping into the main house, hand clenched desperately over my bleeding side. To his frantic questions, I could only answer one word. One name.

Ren.

And as if I had called for him, he answered.

Ren came bolting down the steps of the house, wide eyes frantically meeting mine as he reached for me. His hand stretched out, but I flinched back, bracing myself to run, to dodge his sword.

He wasn’t wearing his cape. He wasn’t even wearing his armour. He looked nothing like the man who had just tried to tear me to shreds, and I didn’t even– I had no– I was just so lost. How could I reconcile that this man before me, wearing nothing but a white silk shirt and loose pants, who was shivering in the snow and looking so frantically, so worriedly at me, was trying to kill me?

I was crying, I think. Sobbing hysterically, jerking desperately away from Ren, who tried to help me anyway because it’s Ren. BigB was at my side, bandaging my wound as blood soaked his hands, but all I could see was Ren. Ren, under my axe’s blade. Ren, bleeding onto the floor. Ren, in front of me, hand carding through my hair, voice terribly broken as he begged for me to breathe. Ren, sword swinging as he tore through my skin. Ren.

When I woke up the next day, I was alone. My bandages were freshly changed, but pain ripped through me harshly when I tried to move. By the time I had stumbled to the door, they were all watching me from the kitchen– Ren, Etho, BigB, and Skizz. I waved them off, mumbled something about needing to wash up, and burst into the cold morning air. It stung my eyes, burning my nose with how frigid it was– but I couldn’t be bothered to care. If Ren wanted his Red Winter, I suppose he had earned it– but at what cost, I wondered, would he keep it?

By the time I returned to the house, Ren was the only one left inside. I immediately flinched back, intending to leave again, but he looked at me pleadingly, and I froze in place. Waiting, watching his every move. Sitting there in his desk chair, hunched over crumpled papers with reading glasses perched on his nose, he didn’t look threatening. He didn’t look like the man who had tried to tear my head off just the night prior. He looked human— A little pale, maybe, a little bloodless, but so human.

He asked me what had happened. Martyn, he said, voice lingering sadly on my name, what happened? He kept asking that. Requesting after who hurt me, demanding that I tell him— And how could I not?

So I told him, with stilted words and a mumbling tone that was uncharacteristic, I admitted— That it was him. That every time, I thought it was him, coming to talk to me, to spend time with me, and that every time, I was betrayed. I told him that even at that exact moment, talking to him, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to pull out his sword, eyes flashing, and slit my throat. Mercilessly.

He listened to me ramble silently, then blinked at me. Just staring at me. At my bruises, the scars that littered my skin.

He claimed it wasn’t him. I believed him. I always do. I think, now, that he was right.

I saw that thing thrice more. I never saw it when Ren was around, speaking to me, but when he was gone, and I was alone, It would approach me. Speaking exactly as Ren spoke, mimicking his mannerisms perfectly until I was utterly convinced it was him. No tactics worked— No secret words, no codes, nothing. It knew it all.

You might think that since it looked so weird, so wrong, I would notice. But I couldn’t. I always noticed too late. Perhaps my own paranoia got the best of me, as well, but I had started seeing It in Ren’s face, the same way I saw Ren in its face. So, all this to say, I could never truly tell.

It got the jump on me twice, and Ren swore from then on that we were attached at the hip. That he should not leave my side. I never saw where the creature vanished to after its attacks. Only that at once it was there, and then it was gone. And all it took with it was my blood, sweat, and tears. Literally.

So Ren and I stayed attached at the hip, and I didn’t see it until the final day of my life in that world. Earlier that day, I saw Scott for the first time in months. And I knew instantly, immediately, that something was wrong.

First of all, and most obviously, he was talking to someone else. Someone invisible. Someone invisible, lacking the potion effects that invisible players were forced to display. Scott was talking to someone who wasn’t there.

Second, as alarm bells rang loudly in my head, I realized that Scott looked horrible. I mean, no offence to Scott, he’s a good-looking guy! But his eyes were red-rimmed, his hair flat and dull. He had horrible scratches all over his face, and no doubt covering his body. He looked… beat up. And upset.

Etho had kept us updated on the goings-on of the server. Scott had been hunkered down, keeping to himself. So, to me, it seemed obvious there was only one person– one thing that could have done that to him.

I tried talking to him afterward, but he shut me down and hasn’t mentioned it since. To be fair, I haven’t either. I guess we all need to keep our secrets.

So the last time I saw a Ren that wasn’t Ren was in the final battle. To spare you all the sour details, and to spare myself the flashbacks, we lost. Horribly. I watched Ren crumple to the floor with an arrow in his chest, and the rest of the Red Army die horribly in the snow fort we called home. I watched the snow I’d shovelled aside become soaked with the blood of my friends and enemies alike, and I watched Grian and Scar stumble away from the scene of their crime as I bled out into the snow.

And as I bled, knowing all of my allies were dead. Knowing I was alone. I was gifted one last visit.

At first, I thought it was an angel. Or a miracle of some kind. Then, I quickly realized the truth. As Not-Ren raised his sword, a sword still dripping with my blood from our battles past, I could only be glad to see Ren’s face once more.

He plunged his sword through my chest, and I left that world forever.

I haven’t seen It since. Thank goodness. Even in the newer games and everything else, I’ve managed to dodge it. I can’t help but be a little scared every time I see Ren, but I’m working past that. It’s worth it for Ren.

Sometimes, though. When I’m alone… I can swear that I see.

But it’s probably just a trick of the light.

I’m glad he’s gone. I’m sure of it.

Statement ends.

Huh. This is interesting, alright. Um, I do recall Martyn being vaguely… more beat up than expected in the Third Life world, but I died pretty early on, so I can’t confirm nor deny anything.

Other than the fact that Martyn was probably hallucinating, of course. With all the fighting he did in that game, it’s no wonder. He probably took enough hits to the head to kill an average human on brain damage alone. I’m fairly certain if there were.. Doppelgangers, or shapeshifters hanging around, we’d know about it.

[SIGH]

I’ll make Etho look into it and do a little bit of research. Maybe he’ll dig something up, but he’s always on about something, so I often find it hard to believe when he does come up with something. I’ll have Lizzie and Bdubs ask around, as well. I have to put my assistants to use somehow.

All I can confirm for sure is the death dates. That’s all. And the existence of the game, but we all knew that already.

That, and. One other thing. I spoke to Scott about it. As Martyn said, he was pretty uninterested in talking about it, but he did mention something funny. About… seeing Jimmy, long after his permadeath.

All very concerning. But that’s an issue to be brought up again at a later date.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]