Chapter Text
The crowd cheers loudly, feet stomping in a rhythm that elevates Sneeg's heartbeat. He locks eyes with his opponent and exhales. Both men have lost a heart already and Sneeg steals a glance to the podium above the people. Aimsey and Foolish sit there, enchanted megaphones in hand (weird fucking devices of Tubbo’s handcraft) commentating every move made, every breath taken and every punch thrown. Sneeg tightens his grip on the iron spear he’s holding and prepares his next attack.
Foolish laughs at something Aimsey says and Sneeg catches him leaning on the railing, wild energy sending spikes down Sneeg’s spine. The weather is cloudy but the heat down in the arena is almost unbearable. Something pushed deep inside Sneeg yearns for the cold and stale air of the ancient cities where the only sounds are bats, other undead and on the occasion, footsteps muffled by the wool carpet.
There’s a scream and Sneeg feels the knives graze his face before he registers movement. His opponent had taken advantage of Sneeg’s distraction and rushed in, slashing at everything and everywhere. It’s sloppy, uncontrolled but sells the wanted image. The crowd ooh’s and keep chanting Sneeg’s name when he swipes the spear, hitting his opponent in the abdomen. Everything is allowed in the arena except enchantments and Sneeg misses his Blunderbuss greatly.
“Are you entertained?!”
Cheers erupt and for a second the sound is too loud which doesn’t go unnoticed by Aimsey.
“People! Our fighters have to concentrate! How else will this fight ever end? It has gone on for quite long, right Foolish?”
“You’re so right Aimsey. It has been a great time but I have to admit, I’m not getting my gold’s worth yet.”
Sneeg laughs loudly and rolls his shoulders. He locks eyes with his opponent and tastes the fear in their eyes when Sneeg appears to grow in size, looming over the drops of blood mixing with the sand and sculk.
“Come on over, kid. We’re not done.”
Spear pointing at his opponent, Sneeg inhales and starts running towards the figure shaking in fear. They scream and manage to jump over the spear and land behind him, striking Sneeg’s back. He growls and turns around, punching the air out of the creature’s lungs in one swift motion. To the crowd’s surprise they rise with heavy breaths.
“That’s all you can do?” The creature yells. “The Warden just swipes and punches? That’s so fucking sad-”
Whoosh.
A sharp sound echoes through the arena followed by a body dropping to the ground. Everyone sits closer to the end of their seat and Sneeg strains his hearing to catch parts of conversations. It proves futile when Foolish’s voice booms from the megaphone, deafening Sneeg, causing his ears to ring.
“Is this the end? Will our challenger stand?”
“Doesn’t look likely, Foolish. No one would care whether they stand up or bleed out.”
“Don’t be so nihilistic my friend. Oh, oh look! They’re standing up! We’re still going!”
An amethyst dings below the commentators and Sneeg knows the sound well. His opponent stands up with only one heart remaining. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out. Sneeg rolls his shoulders, flexes his fingers and feels the air bubbling in the back of his throat. Adrenaline in his veins, speeding up by each stomp of the crowd is electrifying. Everything is allowed in the arena, fighters know this. The Sonic Shriek is not enchanted. It’s biology.
Aimsey holds their breath, watching the scripted fight, knowing Sneeg will win any moment now. The timing is rarely important unless there are higher and more important people (or ‘realmies’ as Sneeg calls them) watching, and this fight isn’t any different. Aimsey pretends to crack their neck to catch a glimpse of the Watchers. They are enjoying the fight if Aimsey reads their nods and talking hands correctly. It’s past midday and the sun tries peeking through the heavy clouds. It smells like rain in the wind.
Sneeg’s opponent manages to catch him off guard and gets in a few good punches and swipes of their knives and red drops splatter on the ground. Entertainment my ass, Aimsey thinks. They willfully ignore how their hand shakes by balling it to a fist. Dead men aren’t allowed pleasures and the fun of life. And would there be any fun anymore without-
“Hit me! Coward!”
Sneeg growls and grabs the fallen spear from the ground, shaking in anger. Part of it is pretend, but some of it is genuine annoyance. This fucker should have died already! Sneeg shakes his head suddenly. No. Not die. Lose. A quiet hum of energy penetrates Sneeg’s concentration and he pushes it away to focus on his opponent. Sneeg breaths in and breaths out, bleeding on the sand. Spots of sculk color where he’s been and where his opponent has fallen. Foolish chants with the crowd and Aimsey sits silently, leaning forward.
It’s now or never.
Sneeg meets his screaming opponent in the middle of the arena in a clash of fists, punching and sharp knives. Neither willing to give up but the opponent manages to trip Sneeg onto his back and drops their knives to press Sneeg’s iron spear against his throat. There’s surprising strength in them that would warrant an inch of respect from Sneeg, had the situation been different.
“I’m- winning- this.” Sneeg bares his teeth. “Get- off-”
“Why you? Why? I’ve been fighting for all my life! Warden, you must let me have this.”
Sneeg struggles against the building pressure and growing shortage of breath. “It’s not up to me, man. Get the- fuck- off-”
“Can it be that Warden has met his match? A sudden show of incredible strength from our challenger.”
“I think you’re finally getting your gold’s worth, huh, Foolish?”
“Indeed I am Aimsey, indeed I am.” Foolish turns out to face the rest of the crowd around them. “What about you?!”
Loud cheers mask the booming pop of energy just above the edge of the arena. The scripted contract burns in Aimsey’s bag and they prepare for what’s to come. They feel apologetic towards Sneeg, not quite ashamed but something akin to it. An uncomfortable feeling like ants and worms and bugs and spiders crawling across their skin settles in their chest and Sneeg feels it too. The siblings lock eyes right when someone falls onto the sand roaring.
“What the fuck was that?!”
Sneeg feels the pressure against his throat disappear and he sits up to see a flash of metal strike his opponent square in the jaw and they flop on the ground, unmoving. There’s no ding of an amethyst but there are confused shouts and booing.
“Who the fuck- Fit?” Shaking his head in an effort to clear it from the fog and Aimsey’s discomfort, Sneeg feels a kick to his jaw.
“Greetings people of the Realms! I am Madagio!”
“Madagio?”
“A new challenger enters the arena?”
“I didn’t pay for this! Keepers-”
“Okay, okay let us calm down.”
The crowd erupts in chaos but Foolish’s charisma calms them down enough so the ringing in Sneeg’s ear stops. He manages to finally look up properly and sees Fit standing above him. Except something is… not right. Sneeg recalls Fit with a beard, his clothes ragged and smelling awful. He joked with Phil about Fit being homeless for no reason, especially when he was a member of the Kingdom. The man in front of Sneeg now is anything but. New scars and fading bruises color his body, his metallic arm glistens in the dozens of torches set up around the arena and the look in Fit’s eyes is cold. To Sneeg, this man is unrecognizable.
“I hear you’re looking for a fight, huh?” Fit smiles and it’s wrong. “I’m here to provide you with one.”
Warden blocks Madagio’s kick and instead grabs his leg into a tight hold, using the momentum to throw Madagio across the arena. The crowd cheers and Warden fully stands up, spitting blood. The ones closest to the edge see him flexing his fingers and tensing his muscles. Madagio laughs and gets up, stepping over Warden’s original opponent and ignores the sculk growing below them. Aimsey can almost smell the rot and decay. The opponent is not dead, they have one life remaining still and the Watchers are more interested than previously. Not because Warden was winning. But because he isn’t.
The men clash in the middle of the arena, barking insults at each other, dodging kicks and punches and Warden manages to strike Madagio in the shoulder with his iron spear. Something Madagio is not pleased with.
“What happened to you?”
“I died.”
A punch, a kick, a strike. Blood splatter on the sand and sweat rolling into Sneeg’s eyes. Fit barely breaking a sweat. Sneeg dives for his spear again, bringing it down towards Fit’s other shoulder but this time Fit blocks the attack, grabbing hold of the spear and they’re standing face to face, teeth bared and arms straining for victory.
“We- can talk- about this-”
“Nothing to talk about- my friend.”
Foolish scrubs his eyes in disbelief. “Are they just talking? Do you see this Aimsey?” They nod, grasping the megaphone with white knuckles. Foolish ignores it. “I’m bored. Are you bored?” The crowd cheers instead, obviously entertained and clinging onto their seats in anticipation. The air feels heavy and the ants and worms and bugs and spiders seem to grow in size and cause physical nausea in Aimsey. And it is that feeling of wanting to peel off their skin and bury themselves six feet under to be caressed by the earth that makes Sneeg’s step falter and there’s a gleam of madness in Fit’s eyes when he brings his head down suddenly and headbutts Sneeg.
A crack echoes across the arena, followed by a large body thumping to the ground and Madagio wins the fight, leaving Warden groaning and pierced on the rough sand. Blood pools around him and soon sculk spreads from Warden’s fingertips and Aimsey chokes down a sob. The amethyst dings and Madagio throws his arms up in celebration.
“Thank you! I am Madagio!”
The sounds are muffled and disjointed, the ground feels too rough and there’s a sudden sharp ringing in his ears again when Sneeg jolts alive, groaning when he feels his fucking iron spear in his chest. It missed vital organs, but the Keepers counted a death anyway. That angers Sneeg more than losing his scripted match. If there isn’t a bag of gold worth three quarters of his bodyweight waiting for him after this, there’s no telling who Warden kills.
“Ah, how good it is to be back.” Fit brings his arms down to rest on his hips. “Is what I would say if I wasn’t lying.”
The crowd goes silent. Foolish looks between Aimsey, the Watchers, the Keepers and Fit. Confusion colors his emerald eyes. Sneeg coughs blood and manages to yank the spear from his chest, a phantom pain shuddering through Aimsey who also feels the approval from the Watchers and Keepers. The contract still burns in their bag and Aimsey can only whisper apologies to no one.
“This place used to be my home! Behind the kingdom walls, remember the Kingdom of Fools, Foolish?” Fit’s eyes darken. “Hah! Me neither. You are not my people.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Sneeg breaths in and out, looking around the arena, finding Aimsey and frowning. He doesn’t get a response which tells him everything. They knew. But Sneeg doesn’t. Fit turns to face him and he’s shaking. Sneeg can’t tell if it’s from anger or something else. A deep hum reverberates in his body, inviting, coaxing Sneeg to sink Fit into the sculk. He shakes his head and stands up fully with the help of his spear. Despite his loss, Warden looms over Madagio. Sneeg over Fit. One of his friends.
“There’s someone I want to fight. I can challenge anyone I want to, right Keepers?” Aimsey nods for them. “Hah! I’m here to entertain! And maybe collect an unpaid debt in the process.”
Fit’s eyes harden and something bitter clouds them and Sneeg suddenly realizes he doesn’t remember what color Fit’s eyes are. And now they’re staring through Sneeg, or try to. Fit’s bravado and performance is good, pretty convincing, but Sneeg sees him swallowing in fear. He can smell it. Hear Fit’s heartbeat hammer loud and fast, way faster than anyone else in the arena. Sneeg watches as Fit steels himself and points at Sneeg.
“I challenge you to bring over a good ol’ friend of ours. Phil. Cryptid Crow.”
The crowd erupts in confused shouting, some are booing and others cheering but everyone is repeating the same question.
“Isn’t Cryptic Crow gone?”
“He’s just legend, right?”
“As if! No one has seen him in years. Who even is this guy?”
Sneeg watches Fit walk away through the doors without a glance back. He groans in pain and exhaustion, dying doesn’t feel any better or familiar no matter how many times it happens. A couple of medics run in to care for Sneeg’s opponent and a third tries offering her balms and ointments but Sneeg waves her away. A cloud of purple particles appear in front of him and there stands a Keeper, as unreadable as ever.
“Read it and get back to us by sundown.”
They offer Sneeg a scripted contract and with a sneer that he hopes conways his feelings, Sneeg grabs the paper. The Keeper stands one second longer before disappearing into the particles. The contract paper feels heavy and Sneeg can smell the remains of magic.
“Are you okay?”
He hears two sets of familiar footsteps and looks to see Foolish and Aimsey who stop next to Sneeg, offering a couple of small bottles of potions themself. Sneeg accepts the teal liquid with a hum and drops the contract into Aimsey's hands. They put it away.
“I’m sorry you got your ass kicked. Don’t look at me like that, obviously I knew he was involved.”
“And you didn’t tell me!”
Sneeg downs the potion and turns to Foolish who is scowling at Aimsey. “Did you know about this challenger?”
Foolish shakes his head. Sneeg can see the gears turning in both of their heads and sighs. Aimsey’s biting the inside of their cheek and Sneeg places a hand on their shoulder. Reassurance (with some added annoyance) flash between the siblings and Foolish leaves them alone with a plethora of complaints.
“Good fucking luck finding Phil!”
Aimsey huffs and their shoulders drop.
“This is going to fucking suck.”
“That’s your fault.” Sneeg laughs at the look on Aimsey’s face and starts walking toward the betting table. He needs to know if he’s getting paid. “We’ll find him if we’re lucky.”
“Lucky?!”
The clouds above them darken and the siblings smell the upcoming rain in the air. That night, there’s a thunderstorm that destroys buildings, floods a basement and soaks everyone who dares leave their housing. Hidden in the shadows granted by the curtain of water, only visible during the lightning strikes is Fit, squatting on the gladiator arena railing, stoically watching the rain wash away the blood and sculk from the sand. Waiting.