#parkwipciv

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - stolen flowers 1/?, 1.5k, ongoing. [FIRST] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

we made it!! my fic for @multidimensionbb’s wip purge event. super big shoutout to @wyvern-of-whimsy for being my supporter <3

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - home adrift 4/?, 8.3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

When Xisuma opened the door to Cleo's bedroom, it was full of knick-knacks, silly pictures on the wall and carved figures lining the desk, but it was also notably empty of Cleo herself. The crumpled sheets trailed onto the floor. Cleo didn't make their bed, but at least they were tidy enough to leave them on the bed in a pile. Something was not quite right.

"Cleo?" He called. They were still not there.

Xisuma took a step closer to the bed and pulled the blankets back onto the mattress, straightening them out. As he smoothed over the quilt, an object bounced off his boot, rolling under the bed. He got on his knees and reached underneath the bed frame, searching around blindly, before he gripped the thing and fished it out. When he opened his glove, within it lay a greenish-blue lump curled in upon itself. He squinted in the dim light, focusing, before he realised it was a mangled hand.

"Oh jeez," he gasped. His heart stuttered, skipping beats and bile coated his tongue. "Oh, goodness." Cleo's hand. Cleo was not there, but her hand was. It seemed to have ripped at the stitches' seam, the joint separated with almost surgical precision. Xisuma muttered not now, X, under his breath. Was he really analysing how Cleo's hand like a freak when they were missing? He placed the hand gingerly on the floor next to him. Maybe it could be reattached.

Cleo had obviously been taken by Grian. But what Xisuma couldn't understand was why Grian had done it. Why he would keep doing it. None of it made sense. But getting his Hermits back would change that. And— and if Grian had to be removed, so be it.

His communicator buzzed. X didn't want to see how Doc screwed up this time, or deal with the consequences. Luckily, Doc seemed to be keeping his toes in line for once. Instead, it was a notification of Ren and Grian world hopping, sent from the server. Which… they shouldn't be able to do.

"Curious," he muttered. They—or rather Grian, he guessed— had managed to get past his lockdown, and now they could be anywhere, which made his plan useless. Then again, X didn't know how he would've contained Grian by himself when he had already taken twelve of his hermits single-handedly.

It didn't matter though; he had something else to do. Xisuma had promised Cleo, after all to find them: Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie.

Xisuma didn't know where he got Martyn's address. Perhaps when he and Jimmy toured Hermitcraft. But however it happened, it was in the system, and close enough that he wouldn't have to use the long range teleporter.

Martyn's house looked a lot like Grian's did. Xisuma frowned. He didn't want to think about Grian right now. It couldn't be proven that Grian was behind all of this, but considering there was a confirmed sighting of him kidnapping someone and suggested evidence of him doing the same to many others… it wasn't looking good for him. X didn't know what to think of him at the moment, so he didn't, but Grian's dusty, worn house stayed in his thoughts anyway.

He knocked politely at the door and waited outside for a moment before sighing and trying the door. It swung open creakily, the pieces of the lock shattered on the floor. "Martyn?" He called. Dust seemed to coat him, and he was gladder than ever for the in-built respirator into his helmet. "It's Xisuma, I just want to talk to you," he continued, trying to project soothing into his voice. It didn't really work; he sounded anxious and quite worried.

He continued picking through the house. The bread in the cupboard was stale and there was some kind of lichen growing on the inside of his kitchen. Finally, he arrived at what seemed to be the bedroom. It had a bookshelf in one corner and a futon on the ground, with bags littered in the corner. Turning to close the door, he realised that the door had no handle anymore. The knob and the area of wood holding it having been ripped with the force of someone who expected resistance. It seemed that Martyn hadn't been home for a while. Xisuma sighed, closing Martyn's door behind him, before he teleported away.

BigB's house was modern, a box of cut quartz and tinted windows. It was just as empty as Martyn's, yet much better kept; the floors were dust free, the curtains were open, the food was packed neatly away in the cabinets, the bed was made. But BigB wasn't there. Dread pooled in Xisuma's stomach.

Jimmy's house was a cosy cottage on the river, cute, tidy, if a little outdated in style. He stepped through the door, pulling it open, and noticed a cat sleeping on the bed. There was a table flipped sideways with torches, food and a sword scattered on the spruce floor. The cat stared at him with unblinking yellow eyes. Xisuma got the sense it knew something it shouldn't. A name tag with Big Man Norman carved into it hung from its collar. X offered it a piece of cooked meat before he flipped the table back over, sending a slight breeze into the next room. It disturbed pieces of paper that were scattered on the floor, fluttering with the dust that followed.

Xisuma knelt down and gathered them into a stack to read. Most were useless: junk mail, drawings of a cat (presumably Norman), invitations to new worlds. Finally, he comes across a letter, signed Smajor1995. X almost ignored it, until he noticed the words Grian, Pearl, helmet and gone.

Unfortunately, Scott's letter didn't reveal much to him. The ink was smudged and scribbled, like he was in a hurry. Scott had emphasised Jimmy leaving— he had no chance to fight; if Grian could take so many powerful revenants just like that, Jimmy couldn't hope to fight. It was a little demeaning, even if well intended. He knew Jimmy had been training with Grian before he was reaped to put his avian nature to good use. But the word helmet was curious.

Pearl visited me yesterday. She seemed to be in a hurry, but couldn't tell me why. She was close to wolfed up, my teeth were burning. It's honestly quite annoying being connected to someone's shifter form. Pearl asked me if I could see our Reaper for her, but it hasn't spoken to me in weeks. It knew something was coming. She told me about this helmet, and how it messed with Scar. Grian's next. Knowledge is power, Jimmy. We need to know what that helmet's connected to. I'm doing some reading. Come find me in the Meadow if you can.

Jimmy had been packing when Grian came. But Xisuma had a new thing to look into: Scott, and this helmet. The way Scott had phrased it, the helmet had a hand in the way Grian was acting. Grian is not himself. X folded the letter and tucked it away, and set out to Scott's.

Scott's Meadow was stunning, hidden away on a hill, with rolling gardens, birds flitting above his head in the blue sky, sunlight bathing the grass in a golden glow, and blood staining the shattered bay window. Shards of glass were littered through the garden beds, the pieces sparkling atop the roses like dewdrops. Xisuma creaked open the door, an uneasy silence settling over him just like the layer of dust at Martyn's.

Smears of blood coated the glossy oak planks, leading towards the doorframe he had stepped through. It appeared Scott didn't plan on going through the window, and whoever attacked him made that choice for him. Walking with through the kitchen, he found a note was pinned to the dining table with a dagger. The handwriting was scrawled and slanted, and dated two days ago.

Pearl,

He's here. Grian doesn't sound like himself and his eyes are purple. Since when were his eyes purple? I know you wouldn't know better, because of the way we are, but it sounds… almost like a Reaper. Has possession by a Reaper been heard of before? I thought they couldn't fit in a mortal form.

fuck gtg

I left two books from the Elven Library. They're on the table. Stay out of my room.

-S

X clenched his fists, breathing out shakily. He couldn't worry about Scott right now, he needed to calm down and get to the library. His unsteady inhales didn't slow his heartbeat or silence the voice inside him that muttered Scott's dead. He followed the hallway away from the kitchen, passing door after door after door. Scott's house went on forever— it would cut into the hillside. An unassuming dark oak door interrupted the cut quartz walls, covered in cobwebs that were twice as dingy in the blinding cleanliness of Scott's house. It looked… intentionally dirty, like the grime had been painted on and the copper doorknob left unwaxed on purpose. He opened the door, flinching at the squeal of creaky hinges.

And inside, was the library.

Compared to its decrepit entrance, it was lit golden by candles and sunlight. There was a sweeping skylight that shone dappled sun onto the what must've been hundreds of shelves that were all in perfect condition, probably maintained by magic. He padded on the soft carpet and breathed in through his helmet's filter and managed to smell flowers even beneath layers of dirt. X would have to convince Scott to do whatever he did here to his art gallery.

Next to the door was a large table, and its legs were… carved chicken feet? On top of it were two tomes; one, a thick book on folklore and the other, a leatherbound journal. Xisuma flicked through the journal, finding it ended a halfway through. But the filled pages, were filled with Reapers. X wasn't a revenant, like some of his servermates, but he had heard of the interdimensional creatures. It was a record of Reapers, and revenants, and powers and abilities. He picked it up and tucked it in his pocket, promising himself that he would come back and ask to roam between the bookshelves. But Scott's house had given him all that it knew on the helmet.

Lizzie was last on his list, and the furthest away from Hermitcraft. Joel had lived here, once, and his space was obvious from the belongings left cluttered on the floor and the gaping absence of things in places that were 'his' areas, like she was afraid to move into where he was.

A door slammed at the back of the house, and he could pick up yelling from the back garden. It was the first sign of recent life in all of the places, and X hurried towards the door, almost tripping over a dog as it, too, sprinted towards the rising voices.

The sun was dimming, approaching the horizon. The bronze rays caught on the grass and three heads: one brown, one covered in netherite, and one pastel pink. It looked like they were arguing.

"No, Grian, I don't want to hear it! Where is Joel? You should know where he is! I didn't tell him to leave for Hermitcraft, only for him to disappear, you bloody lying—"

Scar raised his hands in surrender. "Hey now, Lizzie. Joel is fine, you don't have to worry. You just have to come with us."

Grian stayed silent, which was quite unlike him. X needed to know what the hell was going on.

"Grian!" He interrupted. "Where are they? The Hermits? And why are you here, Scar, I thought you were on break. And what on earth is all this about this helmet," he asked, trying to keep calm, but his voice rose and his hands shook. Goodness, he was such a failure of an admin.

Grian turned to look at him strangely: his head rotated and his body turned mechanically to follow. His wings stayed folded behind him. He still said nothing.

"Oh, hey X!" Scar greeted, but his eyes flicked between Lizzie and Grian. His cheek twitched like his grin wanted to drop. "Why are you here? I didn't realise you and Lizzie were that close," he commented. X went to protest, before he cut himself off. Sometimes it seemed like Scar's revenance was a silver tongue, rather than what it actually was.

Grian shifted on his feet, widening his stance. Lizzie seemed to be sizing X up. Scar glanced between all three of them, before settling on Xisuma.

"Listen, X, I don't think you should be here right now. You can catch up with our dear friend Lizzie later, yeah?" Scar suggested, his tone sliding towards threatening. X shook his head.

"I can't, Scar. I have a duty to the Hermits, and when so many go missing I need to look into it. And Grian is looking to be involved at the moment, so if I could just—"

"I don't think the Revenant of Void was asking a question," Grian said. X flinched. He didn't want to deal with manipulative interdimensional people again, not again, not again. He could faintly hear Lizzie panicking over the blood in his ears.

"What— why are you a Reaper, you shouldn't be a Reaper, Grian, fuck—" she gasped. "What have you gotten yourself into? Grian," she pleaded, reaching out to touch his shoulders. Xisuma couldn't help but feel immeasurable sadness for her; a friend for decades, not quite the same. Grian's face set as she grabbed his arm, before he pulled his arm back and brought it down across her face.

Lizzie gasped, hands coming up to cup her cheek. Eyeliner smudged around the bottom of her eyelid as she brushed her pink hair away from her cheek. When X saw the reddening handprint, he finally snapped back into his own body. Lizzie was yelling and her eyes glistened as he stepped between her and Grian.

"Grian, you can't just go around slapping people, goodness. What's gotten into you?" Xisuma protested. Grian glared at him, before jerking his head at Scar, who was staring off into the middle distance. Scar snapped to attention and approached Xisuma, weighed down with reluctance. He instinctively stepped back. Scar's mouth was moving, and X focused to cut through the static ringing in his ears. All Scar was saying was I'm sorry, I'm sorry, over and over and over. A tear landed on X's glove, and Scar stiffened like he was expecting a beating too.

"What are you doing?" Xisuma whispered as Scar laid his fingers on the back of his neck.

"I think you know," he replied, mouth set in a line and sad eyes that turned black, speckled with blue. Cold traced down his spine as something touched the back of his neck.

"What—" he gasped, reaching back to bat Scar's arm away, but his grip tightened in warning. His eyes widened as the sound of glass splintering filled his helmet, his helmet which was cracked with stress lines and faults. He couldn't see much (was he going to pass out? was he going to die), and darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision. Blinking away the black spots, Xisuma realised that literal skulk was growing on his visor, and he could no longer see out of his left eye. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"Sleep," Scar whispered. Xisuma's mind echoed with the command. A little voice pleading not again, not again. His limbs folded and his eyes closed. He was pretty sure Lizzie was demanding answers, her fingers flickering with flames and threats. He couldn't hear much over the blood roaring in his ears.

He had fulfilled his promise, at least. Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie. The journal weighed heavy in his pockets. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. How heartbreaking to lose someone you knew to a life you couldn't be in. How horrible for them to come back and ruin it all over again.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - home adrift 4/?, 8.3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

xisuma begins his hunt and keeps his promises. this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - broken threads 3/?, 5.7k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

"Alright fellas, that's it," Joel announced, slamming his hands onto the meeting table. Scar flinched violently and Gem rolled her eyes. "Grian hasn't responded to anything in a week and a half. Even Mumbo's here!" He pointed at the moustached man, who leaned away from his finger.

Skizz nodded. "G hasn't been past my place in ages— he promised me he would move the snails outside my pyramid. Every time I go to his house, he just nods and tells me he'll come soon. What a jerk!" He huffed. "Whatd'ya think, Dippledop?" Impulse shrugged.

"Usually Grian is always on our back about Magic Mountain meetings, but he hasn't mentioned anything for ages. Dude, he always looks so pale as well. Like he's sick or something. He doesn't even fall from my buildings to punch me anymore." He shrugged again. "I don't know, man."

"Don't call me creepy for this, but I've been checking on the feathers he moults, and there's been a lot less," Gem started. Joel raised an eyebrow.

"We don't all have a degree in everything ever, Miss Researcher," Joel laughed. "Not that I'm stupid. I'm smart, and intelligent, and really tall."

Gem punched him in the arm. "Anyway, less feathers is bad because it means that his wings aren't being taken care of like they should. He might be sick, or stressed, or something. I don't know. Maybe we should go check on him?" Gem suggested. They all nodded.

"I'll go," Mumbo volunteered.

"As will I!" Scar shouted, pumping his fist. Joel nodded. He wanted to go as well, but he hadn't spent that long with Grian on Hermitcraft— he had literally just joined. And while he saw him outside of the server a lot it was to kill him. For fun. Joel wasn't the best option; Mumbo and Scar, who had been his friends for seasons, seen him grow and change and die. They were much better choices for this. It made sense. Joel should've been there for him.

"Keep us updated, alright lads?" Joel asked. Joel couldn't be nervous. Not here. He wrung his hands under the table. Mumbo and Scar agreed, and started discussing with Impulse and Skizz about trying to lure Grian out of his house.

You wanted to volunteer, didn't you, a voice echoed in his mind. He tried to keep a straight face, but his jaw was clenched a lot more than a relaxed man's would be. No, I didn't, Gem. You're a liar, he shot back.

Uh-huh. For a voice in his head, she could convey sarcasm terrifyingly well.

Whatever. Could you keep it down in there? Joel asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Grian. He watched her from across the table as her face twisted into something guilty.

Oh, she responded. Sorry. I'm working on it, promise. Joel nodded. Part of him felt guilty for digging into that little insecurity of Gem's just to stop her talking about something, especially when he knew that she was newly reaped. He couldn't help but remember flooding his bedroom when he had come back from the end of Double Life, Lizzie shaking him awake with water dripping from her hair.

It's alright, he smiled. You're getting better already. Gem nodded, turning away. Joel wrung his hands under the table again, weighed down with guilt. Only a dick would dig into his friend's insecurities like that. The same kind of dick who finds killing those who trusted him fun.

"Right then!" Mumbo declared. "I think we're ready to go!" Skizz cheered. Water dripped down the back of Joel's neck and clenched his fists.

☆

Pearl was trying so hard to fix her wordle game— someone had come in and inputted some order of letters that broke it. At this point, she was tempted to sit on her farmhouse's roof and eat cake. Alas, work called.

"Pearl? Are you there?" Someone called from her front door. She sighed. Productivity was useless anyway.

Hurrying up the stairs, she caught sight of Gem through the door, tapping her foot. When Gem saw her, her shoulders relaxed a little, but her brow stayed creased with concern.

"Hello, Gem!" Pearl cracked open the door. "What— what brings you here?"

"Maybe this would be a better conversation for inside?" Gem suggested. Pearl nodded, ushering her inside and closed the door. She didn't like the way Gem glanced over her shoulder, like she expected something was coming.

Once Gem was seated on her table (instead of her lovely chairs. Typical), she took a deep breath and proceeded to slam her dagger to the hilt into a loaf of bread that had been left out to cool. Pearl flinched backwards, startled.

"Mumbo and Scar are gone, Pearl," Gem spat. Her eyes shone with bitter rage and angry tears. "Grian's sick, and I haven't seen him in two days. Scar's train is empty. No one in Mumbo's town have heard from him."

Pearl reached out for her shoulder, trying to leave a comforting pat, but Gem slapped her hand away. "That's not all. Impulse was at Skizz's six hours ago, helping him clean his wings, and now they're gone too." She exhaled shakily. "I just— I just don't know what to do? Maybe it's a sickness. Maybe they're all just sick. I don't know what to think, Pearl!"

Pearl stood, pulling Gem's knife from the bread. "They could very well be sick. We've had glitches like that before. Maybe talking to X might help? And you know Skizz and Impulse like to run off together. If they don't come back tomorrow, then we'll think of something, okay?" Pearl flipped the dagger and offered its handle towards Gem. "If something has happened, being angry in my kitchen won't help anyone."

Gem looked up towards her. "There's no reason Grian would be acting weird at all, right?" In that moment, Gem reminded her of some little kid, lost in a big world and wanting a little comfort. Pearl had to remind herself that this was a murderer. Maybe not here, but in another life. She knew that better than anyone. "Of course not, Gem," she smiled. "How about you go to bed? You can talk to Xisuma tomorrow."

Once Gem had closed the door behind her and launched into the sky, Pearl began cutting the bread. Halfway through her fourth slice, she froze. She couldn't have missed it. There was no way she didn't think of it earlier. She had delivered that helmet for Grian— the same helmet that caused Scar to flood the dock with skulk and his eyes go purple and act so… un-Scar-like. She didn't take the helmet with her. That package had been sitting on his dock, unopened, anonymous like any gift would be.

Fuck, that helmet would make anyone act strange. Who knows how long he would've been wearing it. Screw talking to X tomorrow, she needed to do something now. She knew she was spiralling, she needed a clear head to do anything, but all she could remember was Scar reaching out with his soulless purple eyes. Was he going to kill her, all those days ago? God, they were so fucked. She had to fix this. Her canines dug into her bottom lip. Surely there was someone who could help.

☆

It was the fourth day that Cleo needed twenty minutes to get out of bed. They were almost dead on their feet, and the server was alarmingly quiet. Magic Mountain was the most obviously empty: Gem, Scar, Mumbo and Skizz were all on breaks, and the others hadn't been out recently at all.

Even weirder, it was some sort of glitch that the admins couldn't find, let alone catch. And her reaper was still fucking silent. What a jerk.

Right. Despite being sick with a mystery bug, she still had work to do. The shopping district was a good start. They hadn't restocked their enchanted books in a while, and they had to check on their share of the Wolves of Wool Street. She strapped her elytra to her back, jerking at the leathery sensation against her shoulder blades. They closed their eyes to prepare themself to stand=, reminding themself that they had business to do. Cleo stepped outside and lit a rocket, launching into the sky.

"Cleo!" Someone yelled from the ground. They startled, dropping a few meters. Joe and Bdubs waved at them from the ground. She dived, stumbling to the ground next to them.

"Howdy, Cleo! Where are you off to?" Joe asked.

"Yeah! Actually, where are we off to!" Bdubs added, elbowing Cleo in the side.

They rolled their eyes. "My book store, and then the Wolves of Wool Street, and uh—" Cleo cut off as they stumbled. Two pairs of hands landed on her shoulders, pulling her upright. They shook them off.

"Oh my goodness— are you alright?" Bdubs asked.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. It's fine," she reassured. "Let's just get to my shop." Joe nodded, but Cleo didn't miss the way he kept her in his peripheral vision the entire walk to the Kitty Cafe.

When they arrived, even though they did need to restock, Cleo's new main priority was getting rid of Bdubs and Joe. While she loved them, their hovering was excessive, especially considering she had stumbled once. Instead, she checked their stock and made something up about how they were full (they most definitely were not), before continuing past the store.

"Oh! Would you look at that. Hypno's right outside his base. We should all go talk to him!" She said, pointing at the roof of cut copper and the little figure in front of it. Bdubs agreed, gushing about how he 'always love to see Hypno' and if 'he would want free bamboo'. After recieving Joe's approval in the form of a thumbs up, they continued onwards.

Cleo sighed in relief once she had successfully left Bdubs and Joe in Hypno's care, then launched themself into the air again towards the wool stalls. They landed without grace (again? Cleo had spent a week flying with Grian, they were better than this) in a patch of flowers nearby. Grian was standing on the opposite end of the row, buying red wool.

They spotted Pearl jogging towards Grian, one hand holding her hat on her head and the holding their messenger bag closed. He was the first member of Magic Mountain they had seen in almost a week, and Grian still looked like he should be taking a break with the rest of them. He was quite pale, almost as pallid as Mumbo, and his eye-bags were almost the same colour as his eyes. Speaking of which— when did Grian have purple eyes. Curious.

Pearl had slowed now, walking towards him and waving. He pivoted to face her, a perfect 90 degrees, and reached out towards her shoulder. She laughed, confused. Cleo felt a sudden sense of urgency, stomach dropping in their chest. But why? They had nowhere to be, Grian and Pearl would wait to include them in their conversation. She trampled a flower, and another as she began walking faster. There were more flowers, because they were in a field of flowers.

Dogs with vibrant dyed collars wagging their tails lined the sides of dirt path between wool stalls. And Grian—fuck, Grian— was holding bundles of wool and diamonds in his hands. Cleo broke into a run. They cried out, reaching forward.

Pearl looked up over Grian's head in surprise, and Cleo could see the little oh! her mouth formed. Grian's fingers landed on the top of Pearl's shoulders, and Cleo could hear the scream that was ripped from her throat before they disappeared.

No ender pearls, no rockets, no pistons. They were gone, just like she saw.

Cleo stumbled backwards and tripped over, landing flat on their ass in the dirt path. The wolves barked at her as she slid sideways, gravity pulling their head down onto one of the barrels holding brown wool. She was so fucking close to getting them. So close to stopping it from happening. Cleo hated it when she was right.

Five hours later, Cleo could finally open their eyes. Xisuma sat on a chair from her dining room next to the bed, a grim look on his face.

"Hey, Cleo," he greeted, voice soft. "I'm glad you're up. Another hour, and we might've had to start worrying about severe brain injury."

Cleo laughed scratchily, their throat grating. "I've been dead twice, X. I'm sure a little knock on the head can't be that bad." X's twisted forehead disagreed.

"Have you seen Pearl, Cleo? Or Etho, or Gem, or Joel, or Tango? Bdubs left a while ago, saying he would be back from a family trip in two hours, max. It's been eight, Cleo. I don't know— I don't know what's happening." He scrubbed a hand over his head, but she noted almost hysterically it probably didn't work very well because he was wearing a helmet.

"I saw Pearl… five hours ago, I think? Whenever I went out. Listen, I don't know where she's gone, but I'm beginning to have an idea what's going on." Cleo said. X nodded.

"He'll come for me or Ren next. I need you to warn the others, off-world," she instructed. "Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie. They're all next; there'll be no one left after me and Ren. X, you have to go find them, I don't care what the fuck it takes, just— just promise me," she hissed.

"You saw this, didn't you?"

"Fucking— just promise me, Xisuma."

He held his hands up in surrender. "I promise, Cleo. I'll deliver your message. Now, you need to tell me what's going on."

It had been two hours since Cleo had finished telling Xisuma anything and everything. Even the most outlandish of theories couldn't be ruled out. They finally fell into a fitful sleep, lulled by exhaustion and X's promise to deal with Grian. If Grian couldn't leave the server, he couldn't get anyone else. And then, they could figure out what was wrong with him. She could fix this.

There was a pattern to the disappearances, though. The Life members were being picked off, one by one. Grian was not quite himself. Cleo had no idea why. Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie.

It was after two hours of restless sleep that Grian swung open her door.

"You want to do this? Hm? Who the fuck even are you?" They demanded as he stepped inside.

"I would've thought you were smarter than that, Revenant of Fate."

"Yeah, and I thought I would be dealing with something better than a coward who hides in another's skin. Boohoo, baby, can't show your face? Afraid of being busted?" Cleo taunted.

It laughed. Grian's eyes shimmered with silent threats. "Lots of talk from a mortal stuck in sleep. Didn't you have questions about your friends? You and the admin were trying so hard to guess. Why don't you go ask them yourself?" The thing launched itself at her, scrabbling at her arms. They landed a swift kick to its stomach, but it did nothing to stop the creature's assault.

Red threads tangled in her stitches.

"Curious. I didn't think the Reaper of Fate would show itself. It so loves to stay behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Too bad, you don't have time to talk at the moment."

Its hand, or Grian's, covered in scars from fishing line and callouses from an axe, gripped on her forearm where her Reaper's thread tugged upwards. They prepared for the dizzying feeling of world hopping, vertigo and rushing winds. Nothing happened. It grinned, purple light shining down Grian's cheeks, and twisted at the point where her wrist and forearm met, with nothing but shitty surgical stitches holding it together. Cleo gasped as the thread warped and snapped, their skin ripping above the seam. Then came the pain, and the vertigo.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - indigo sleep 2/?, 3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Pearl's mail packages were unusually heavy today. She didn't have to deliver much anymore, now that they had made the post system automatic. She sometimes ran checks to see if anything got stuck and hand delivered them for a bit of fun. Pearl did not call hauling a parcel that was fifteen fucking kilos around Hermitcraft fun. Weirdly enough, it had started out as maybe half a kilo heavy, but it seemed to get heavier, dragging her down more with every step she took.

She checked the stamp on the package to check that yes, she really had to go all the way to Grian's base on Magic Mountain. Pearl didn't pay much mind to the fact there was no return address or name on the package. The mail had to have come from one of the Hermits, and anonymous snail mail was common enough. Pearl knew that better than anyone; Gem had been complaining about her abundance of sea pickles for weeks.

The sun beat on the back of Pearl's neck, and she wished her post office hat was a little more practical. It was early afternoon, and her feet wished for a pair of elytra, but she finally saw Grian's little fishing village in the distance. Passing Skizz's pyramid and a flipping few of Gem's trapdoors, Pearl collapsed on Grian's dock, grateful to be sitting.

"Why hello there, Pearlie," someone giggled beside her.

"Holy fu- what?" She launched to her feet, dropping the package and spun to see an incredibly smug Scar snickering, making a very poor attempt at hiding it. Pearl poked him in the chest in mock accusation. "What are you doing here, Mr. Goodtimes?"

Scar waved her off. "Just breaking and entering, the usual. "She raised an eyebrow. "Not really, I'm here to drop off some parrots. Grian's never home though, it would be so wonderful if he could answer my messages." Scar huffed. "Anyway. Whatcha got there? Oooh, Grian's mail. Can I hold it hostage? It would be really, really cool to hold Grian's mail hostage."

"No, you can't hold Grian's mail hostage, Scar. I'm just gonna drop it off and leave. Don't meddle with it, or I'll hold your mail hostage," Pearl threatened.

"You're no fun!" Scar pouted. "Do you even know what's in it?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Scar. I'm a professional. I don't snoop through people's mail. I have a reputation to uphold."

Scar was making grabby hands at the box. "Just one peek! It won't hurt him! I pinkie promise, I won't steal it." Pearl frowned, but in the end, she was as much of a mail snooping goose as Scar. Curiosity itched at her to find out what Grian could be getting that was so incredibly heavy.

"Fine," she conceded. "But if we get busted, it's your fault." Scar nodded like he didn't hear her, preoccupied by opening the package. Pearl stared as the flaps were peeled away, revealing-

"It's just a helmet, Pearl."

"It's just a helmet, Scar," she echoed. She blinked, focused again. "Well, I don't know what you were expecting. A stack of gold blocks? A letter from Technoblade? Honestly." She tsked at him, smiling.

"Let's pack this up, yeah?" She suggested, reaching for the box. Scar didn't respond. "What do you think?" She turned to face him, but Scar had lifted the helmet onto his head. He looked up, and his eyes-

Scar's eyes were an alarming purple, void-like and empty. He cocked his head mechanically, and Pearl stumbled backwards, baring her teeth in a snarl. Her canines burned, a reminder that Scott can't help now, you're on your own, Pearl.

Scar reached out, stiff and a joint at a time, to touch her shoulder. He was pale, the blood was draining out of his tanned face. She ducked to the side and pushed him away from her, knocking the helmet off his head. But the arm kept reaching towards her, and ears pricked at the top of her head. She was going to die, and Scar was possessed or something, and they were so fucked and-

He froze, arm stopping in place.

"Scar?" Pearl asked, on guard in case he did something again. His eyes moved to look at her, widened in horror, before they fluttered closed and he collapsed to Grian's dock. Pearl tasted salt on her lips and iron on her tongue. Gem was always trying to get her to stop chewing her cheek. Pearl picked up the helmet and threw it in the box, sealing it. The sooner it was away and gone, the better.

Scar shivered a little, the sun now in her eyes. "Scar?" She whispered again. All his prone form did was twitch. His palms opened, and then Grian's dock wasn't homely spruce anymore. It was coated in veins of black and blue with a pulsing heartbeat of teal. Skulk. Skulk, and it was coming from Scar.

What the fuck do I do? She stepped away from Scar. What the fuck?

Scar took a sharp inhale. Pearl slid to his side. 'Oh my God' seemed like the extent of her vocabulary, like a chant that could make her forget whatever the hell had just happened. He squinted at her.

"Oh, sweet baby Jellie, my head hurts." Scar muttered. "Hi, Pearl. Why am I on the floor?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows, scanning around him like he expected to be attacked. "Why… what happened?"

Pearl shook her head. "I don't know, Scar. How about we get you back to your own bed, in your train, yeah? We can talk about it later." A selfish part of her hoped Scar never ended up asking. He nodded tiredly.

Twilight blanketed Scar's train as they arrived from Grian's dock. Pearl's neck dripped with sweat from hurriedly walking back and her near transformation. She was still alarmingly close to wolfed up, high-strung and alert. Scar muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Pearl asked quietly. If it were someone like Grian, they would've said nothing and sent her home. But it was Scar. Scar was never afraid of saying too much.

"I've never lost control like that before," Scar admitted, like he was afraid if he said it too loud it would happen again. "Or at least, not in a long time." He stared at his lap, fiddling with the hat lying in it. "The last time I had an outburst like that was after I— I mean, after Double Life ended." The after I first died hung between them in the chilly air of Scar's train. "I don't know why it would flare up now."

They sat in silence for a few beats and watched the stars move past his window.

"I think… I think I'm going to speak to my Reaper," Scar said. Pearl nodded. She didn't seem to do much apart from agree silently these days.

☆

Grian had just finished stocking the Prismarine Palace. After he had dumped all of his empty boxes and bundles in a nearby barrel, he went to his dock. Fishing sounded like exactly what he needed after hauling prismarine bricks around all day. He stretched his wings, fishing rod in hand and bucket hat on his head, only to see his entire dock covered in… skulk? Was someone pranking him? Maybe there was a skulk sensor down there, rigged to play a music disc. He tentatively stepped over to where it appeared to have come from. Nothing. Nothing except his entire dock covered in skulk. Ugh.

"What is going on?" He hissed. Unfortunately, the dock did not have an answer for him. Accepting his fate of painstakingly scraping off the skulk and replacing the planks tomorrow, he spotted the parcel left at the end of his wharf.

He picked his way over to open it. Inside lay a netherite helmet, glistening with magic and mid morning sunlight. He lifted it consideringly, studying the sides. Grian already had a quite nice netherite helmet (he wasn't a loser), but this one had a trim he'd never seen before. He traced it with his fingers. Placing it back in the box, he checked for a stamp, or a note, or something. Nothing. It wasn't that surprising— the Hermits sent anonymous mail to each other often and he wasn't about to complain about a free netherite helmet. He would wear it for a day or two. If he didn't like it, he could go back to his other one.

Grian set the helmet on his head. Leaning over the edge of the dock to see his reflection in the water, he noticed that the indents along the helmet were glowing now, a deep violet. Strange, but it seemed to suit him. It reminded him of the Watchers, from another life.

He noted his arms locking next to his sides in the water's reflection. Surely I can't be that stiff from a little moving, right? His head cocked to the side, and his eyes flashed a dangerous, unnatural purple. Grian clambered to sit down, but a wave of dizziness swept over him. He fell backwards gracelessly, wings spreading to catch him, hitting the back of his head on the dock and his eyes slipped closed.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - daydreamt ashes 5/?, 9.5k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Xisuma felt like his head had been used to demolish a brick wall, his temple throbbing in time with the heartbeat in his ears. He peeled open his eyes, only for them to be assaulted by the blinding fluorescent of end rods, quickly closing them again. Nausea bubbled in his stomach as he shifted, his migraine tripling in pain.

"Oh jeez, alright," he groaned. Someone gasped next to him, and the back of a hand laid over his forehead.

"No fever, good, good," they hummed. "'ere, love, drink this." The bitter taste of potions spread across his tongue as X blinked to some form of wakefulness.

"Good to see you up and at 'em, X. Found you in a pretty bad state," she chirped, but the shadows under her eyes gave away her optimistic charade. "I'm sorry about your helmet being gone— it was easier to treat you with it off, and it's all cracked and whatnot from the skulk." Stress plucked his empty potion bottle from his hands. "What were you doing? I hope Cub hasn't been messing around with that stuff on animals again."

"How… where did you find me?" X croaked. Stress signalled for him to stop speaking, and produced a bottle of water. While he was drinking, she answered, "Oh, the shopping district. The Wolves of Wool Street, actually. It was strange, considering it's quite a ways from spawn." Once he had finished the bottle, she took it from his hands and tucked it away with the other one.

"I didn't realise you went out. What were you doing?" Stress inquired.

Xisuma opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. What was he doing? There were no off world events. Maybe it was Cub.

"I don't know. Maybe we should talk to Cub?"

Stress shrugged."Sure, I'll call him in. Rest up for now, yeah?" He nodded, pulling up the blanket. She got up and closed the door behind her, blanketing him in twilight. He rolled onto his side, wincing as a hard shape dug into his hip.

"What—" he muttered, pulling it out of his pocket. A journal, neatly bound with leather and twine. He flipped it open, squinting at it in the dim light. Spiralling handwriting filled the page, and he placed it as Scott's, despite never seeing any of his writing before. And, it was a research journal about Reapers and revenants, powers and abilities, history and lore. A letter fell out halfway through, signed from Scott. At least now, he could confirm that the journal was Scott's. But why would he have it? Where had he been?

☆

Lizzie's cheek stung with the force of Grian's hand. Shock kept her pinned in place as Scar approached Xisuma. X stepped between her and Grian, hands held up between them. As if she needed protecting— she could burn the flesh from Grian's bones with a touch. At least, she used to be able to. This new Grian, this changed Grian, was one she'd never fought before. Lizzie was no stranger to betrayal, but only in the games— she had always been secure in the knowledge that they were friends despite it all.

And, Grian was a blumming Reaper, or something close to it. It had all gone horribly wrong.

"Sleep," Scar had hissed, splaying his palm flat against the back of Xisuma's neck, and skulk bubbled up the back of his suit, searching for skin. Glass fractured, then shattered, forming a semi circle in front of Xisuma, before he proceeded to fall to his knees, and sleep.

"What have you done? Oh my gosh, what are you doing? What's going on?" Lizzie spat, feeling her blood heat beneath her skin. Her fingertips lit with flames, sparks flitting from one to the next.

"Time to go, Revenant," Grian ordered. Scar stood up, lifting Xisuma with him. Lizzie didn't miss how he cradled his head and whispered something over and over. She didn't move.

"Where are you taking me? Where is Joel? What in the bloody blazes are you?" Lizzie asked, holding up her hands to attack.

"You already know what I am. Mortals made our names, and I do not abide by your laws," Grian (the Reaper?) said. Flames swallowed her palms, trailing to her elbows. "You should have known better, than to think a mere Revenant of Destruction could stand a chance." It laughed, moving forward. God, her reaper would be so pissed if it heard that.

Grian's arm moved forward and clasped around her elbow. She bent his arm away in a twist, ducking out underneath. Grian didn't move, or make a sound, yet his arm blistered and bubbled in the shape of her palm. A handprint for a handprint, she thought, bitter and victorious. Her fingers rekindled.

Suddenly, a pair of hands landed on each of her shoulders, trapping some of her hair with it uncomfortably. Scar held her in place as the cold slime of skulk veins spread down her arms. She thrashed, ripping a of chunk of flesh from Scar's wrist with her teeth, but Grian seized her wrists and pinned them to her sides, stopping her from burning the bastard.

The world fell away, and she saw the void and new worlds flickering beneath her as the oxygen was ripped from her lungs and her flames flickered out.

When she awoke, she was on a very hard mattress. Awareness brought her the observation that rather than a bed, she was lying on a thin blanket on top of a flat rock. God, her back was going to hate her for that. She moved to sit up, before two sets of hands pushed her back down.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," Scott warned. Lizzie blinked, the torch above her swimming.

"You're fluffier than usual," she giggled, batting at the shadowy ears that sat in his hair. He leaned away from her hand, snorting.

"Yeah, and you're stupider than usual."

"Hey! That's not very nice, man," Skizz chided.

Lizzie squinted at the angel. "When did you get here? Also, where is here?"

"A life series, we think," answered Scott. "I can explain, but I don't know much and it's probably a good idea to save it for when you don't have a massive headache."

The torch's light seems to grow warmer, soaking into her bones. Ever since she had been reaped, warmth hadn't been an issue with the nature of her revenance. Lizzie missed being warm.

"I think… that's a good idea," she said. "I think, it would be so fabulous to sleep. And be warm. Warm and sleep." Skizz chuckled as her sentences slurred together into one and she lay back down. Scott mentioned something about moving her to the base to Skizz, but she paid it no mind. It was irrelevant; she was warm, and let unconsciousness take her.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - daydreamt ashes 5/?, 9.5k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

lizzie follows the path of those gone before her. i don't think she'll like what she finds. this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - broken threads 3/?, 5.7k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

things are picking up speed... this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - indigo sleep 2/?, 3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

chapter two whoop whoop this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - stolen flowers 1/?, 1.5k, ongoing. [FIRST] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Joel was one concerned glance away from jumping into the lava pool. It had been nearly two months since Secret Life ended—and his stupid death to Scott again—but only four days since fucking Cub showed up on his doorstep to tell him he was a Hermit now.

"Oh," Joel had replied. Lizzie had looked at him, confused, almost like she was expecting something. Maybe she was expecting him to be happier.

"Excuse me, Cub, I just need to speak to my housemate quickly. How about you come inside. Would you like some tea?" Lizzie gave him a tight smile, ushering Cub into the kitchen. Cub walked pointedly to the other end of the room and stared at the paintings that Lizzie had created over the years. One of them was an acrylic painting of the Secret Keeper, bathed in sunlight and blood. Joel hated it, but could never find the words to admit to her face. The painting itself was lovely, almost picture perfect, but that particular death game, and its memories, was not for either of them.

Secret Life was almost a normal season for him. He'd finally had allies; the Mounders, surrounded by dirt hills and cobblestone walls. Despite it all, every time he stood in that bonding question circle, something itched for a pack of wolves, a cave in a mountain, the thrill of a chase. He hated it.

Lizzie had whispered to him, back in the entryway, something like, "I thought you wanted this! Joel, what's wrong?"

He grimaced. "I just— I can't leave and go to that. It's so... different." Her face contorted in sympathy.

"Oh, Joel. You're perfect for them, and you can see me whenever. I'm sure X won't jail you within the server. You've made the most beautiful things, Joel. Don't think you're not good enough when you already are," she smiled comfortingly. He shook his head.

"That's not what I meant. It's too — too quiet? My friends, they're not… they're not who they usually are," he mumbled. Realisation squeezed his heart with an unforgiving hand. What made Joel alive was high stakes, explosions on a bridge, rising stakes, an ally's blade at his throat. He wasn't supposed to want that. Why did he want that?

"Joel," Lizzie had said, grabbing his shoulders. He averted his gaze. "If one of them says anything unkind, ever, tell me. I'll sort it out." Lizzie shook him for emphasis. Reality clenched its fist again, reminding him that Lizzie wouldn't understand. She was kind and funny and separated her laundry, but she didn't get it. He'd nodded anyway, and they opened the door to the kitchen. Cub smiled expectantly and the Secret Keeper, made of stone and crimson, mocked him.

Overlapping chatter brought Joel back to Mumbo stuttering through the introduction, trying to project over the buzz of the Hermits gathering around their new spawn. It didn't matter what had happened before; he had made his choice, and despite it all, he was excited to be here. He had made it. He tried to squish down the things he had titled 'nerves' in his stomach, that definitely was not guilt for wanting too much. As a child, he was always told the story of the boy who swallowed the sun, who burned from the inside out. But arrogance was safety. If you were a dick already, then insults about your dickishness would never land. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. In the Life Series, everything seemed to cut a little bit deeper. And now, he was with the Hermits. Half of which were in the arena with him.

Joel blew the stray green strands of hair out of his face and looked around the lava pool. This was his life, his family now. He needed to focus. Joel spotted a blotch of red out of the corner of his eye. When he smiled tentatively at the avian, Grian nodded and turned away. 

What.

"-and uh. We have some new people on the server. Should I announce them? Is that a good idea?" The Hermits cheered. Mumbo grinned from across the lava pool. Grian kept bloody looking at him. Joel wanted to drown someone.

☆

Cleo's head was fucking killing them. Her head pounded and dark spots flashed across her eyes. They glanced at their arms, and red strings tangled in their stitches, pulling their arms upwards. She really needed to get inside.

The door had barely swung closed by the time they slumped on their bed, the floorboards creaking under their feet. She finally closed their eyes to blissful, kind darkness.

Opening her eyes was not blissful or kind. They had left the comfort of their house, ripped apart and reformed in a dark cavern with two massive eyes staring from the shadows. Cleo huffed, annoyed, at the creature. A face and body emerged from the gloom, tied with red threads binding its arms to walls kept out of sight. There probably wasn't even a wall, and the Reaper kept the strings there for dramatic effect. Not gonna lie, they didn't really want to see their Reaper right now. A meeting meant it was too important to be sent in a vision, and she didn't want to deal with whatever warrants this. Cleo had enough problems already without having to deal with an inter-dimensional being that saved them from death and chose them to have special powers. But it was fine. It was fine.

"Hi, Reaper."

Cleo couldn't hear their Reaper speak as much as she sees it. The first few times, they couldn't get used to the images, shapes and words rattling around in their skull. But they were mostly used to it now. To be honest, if they weren't after two years, there would've been problems.

JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE MY ONLY CHOSEN ALIVE DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET TO ORDER ME AROUND, REVENANT.

She went to protest, but it cut her off with a swirl of colours and shapes.

IT DOES NOT SERVE TO ARGUE, REVENANT. ESPECIALLY NOT WITH ME. CAST YOUR ATTITUDE ASIDE. I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU.

The Reaper's head pulled back, and its arm reached out, the threads straining against the force before snapping in defeat. They were gold now, and re-knit themselves along its arm, stretching out from the darkness. It placed a finger on her forehead, and Cleo couldn't squash the instinctive fear as it rested on their head. This was its playing ground. It gave her life, it could take it away a second time. Or maybe it wouldn't let her go back home— they would be suspended in its realm, living, dying, a vessel for visions, and prophecy, and fates they could never share. No one talks about the horror of watching a massive creature forty times bigger than they were move with ageless grace and silence.

Blinding light filled her vision (which did not help her headache) as she opened her eyes to a field of flowers, petals stretching as far as the eye could see.

It was outside a shopping district. There was a path that ended abruptly on a hill, and Grian was buying wool from some colourful stalls. Dogs sat on the ground, with bright dyed collars and wagging tails. Pearl ran over, waving, her mouth open in a silent greeting. Her eyes shone and there was a messenger's hat sat jauntily on her head that Cleo hadn't seen before. Grian looked up from his new bundles of wool and diamonds, with void empty eyes. His face was blank, but not arranged indifferently like it would be if he didn't want to see Pearl. He stretched out his hand —uncurling his fingers one by one in a way that felt mechanical— to touch her shoulder, and they both disappeared. There was no sound of vwoops from an ender pearl, or rockets, or pistons opening a floor. And in a blinding flash of white, the vision was ripped from them.

Cleo was left reeling, heart pounding her ears. The shopping district was nothing more than scattered pop up stalls and barrels with faded signs. Her reaper had returned to its first position, arms stretched wide. It was tied down like before, its bindings shifting colours between blue and lavender. It stared at her with wide golden eyes.

She cleared her throat. "Where are they? Where did they go?" Cleo asked, voice wobbling over the syllables. The Reaper of Fate would reward intelligent questions. That was obvious, the opposite of what the Reaper would answer. Cleo hoped for an answer anyway. It laughed at her through bright spheres of mustard, floating though its realm.

YOU KNOW THAT I CANNOT ANSWER THAT, REVENANT. YOU WANTED TO LEAVE, YES?

The Reaper's realm was darkening with unsettling speed. Cleo was feeling quite (extremely) pissed with their Reaper at the moment. It cackled loudly-silently-blaringly, like it knew what she was thinking. It probably did.

SLEEP WELL, CLEO.

Shit.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - ally eclipsed 12/?, 29.2k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Impulse was a pretty laid-back guy. One Hermit Christmas long gone, a drunk Bdubs described him as 'the most un-serious responsible person he knew'. Pearl didn't see that Impulse now; he was frowning, arms crossed and leaning against the door of the Hotel. Whatever Scott had told him had not pleased him. Pearl glanced at Cleo, tilting her head towards the other two. They shook their head, loose petals fluttering to the ground. One deep blue flower got caught in her hair, stark against their fiery red curls.

They crept to a nearby bush, moving along the tree line. The Hotel was massive, over five hundred blocks of sprawling cobblestone. Circling around the back, she spotted a window with a missing pane of glass. Pearl tapped Cleo on the shoulder, directing their attention to the open second floor window. The zombie nodded.

Pearl breathed in. The easiest way to get up would be to break the wall and find a staircase, but that'd be loud, and she didn't know where Ren or Martyn were. That was the same reason she couldn't climb a tree and swing over to the window; Scott was also outside, and Pearl wouldn't put it past him to hear the creaking of the tree, no matter how quiet she was. She would always complain that he had an unfair advantage in hide and seek, even though she had the same powers.

Enderpearling, building a staircase, and swimming up water were all good methods but too loud. It left her with one alternative.

Pearl reached inside her, searching for that warm, rushing river that circled her ribcage. She sometimes thought of it as her second heart, but it pumped revenance instead of blood. It comforted her a little, to carry Tilly wherever she went. Even though she had died, all those games ago, her precious Tilly could go on to protect her. The memories of Tilly's velvety grey ears and round puppy eyes didn't send painful pangs to her heart anymore, instead filling her with the sense of home, just like random hills she passed by and Scott's smell of wildflowers did.

The rapids inside her roared, but she knew them too well to be afraid. Pearl let herself be swallowed by it, that power flowing through her, and she let Tilly guide her to her form.

Shifting always hurt a little, as expected when your entire bone structure changes. But it was never like this. Her ears felt like twin nails hammered into her skull. Pearl's eyes watered, and in an effort to keep quiet she clamped her jaw shut. But the painstaking splitting of her gums as her canines came through caught her off guard, and she ripped her lip biting down. She collapsed on the soft grass, her face turning into a snout. She had watched herself shift in the mirror a thousand times, but this time it felt like her skin was being peeled from her face by cruel little blades. Something was not the same.

Tears made her fur damp as she huffed. The pain hadn't stopped, but at least everything had seemed to stop moving. Gritting her teeth, she pushed up to her knees.

Pearl froze. The movement had started a second wave of her transformation and, to her horror, she could hear her spine cracking. Pearl whimpered as her hands and feet folded over on themselves to form paws, being broken and broken again as her skin split.

The pain was agonising, and so slow. A grating, broken whine met her ears, sending shocks into head. Pearl curled into herself, as much as it burned down her spine. Her paws twitched as her muscles spasmed, and Pearl desperately reached up to her ears to try stop the sound before she realised it was her whimpers she was hearing.

Pearl lay on the ground convulsing for what felt like a millennia. It felt like she had died and been rebirthed through scorching fire at least four times. After the waves had at least died a little, she rolled onto her back to test her legs. Caught off guard again, the pressure on her spine tripled as her legs locked into place. Through the hazy static of her suffering, Pearl's brain kicked into gear long enough to realise that she was screaming, but in her wolf form it was more like a raspy, high pitched howl. She could taste blood in her throat, and imagined it was shredded to a point of no return.

And she was still on the dirt outside of the Hotel. Alone. Cleo had been just over there, there was no way they couldn't have noticed. Unless she had noticed and didn't care. Pearl was no stranger to being abandoned. That was how she had won, and become a revenant. Scott's sacrifice had made them this way. Where was Scott now?

If no one had heard her by now, then she could've just broken in. Ugh. Pearl couldn't remember why she was here. Martyn. They needed to know why their powers weren't working. Martyn knew things. But Pearl didn't, because she didn't know where Cleo was.

Alone. Bile coated the inside of her mouth, stinging her raw throat. She swallowed it. Matted fur was the worst to clean, but she realised a little hysterically that she had bigger problems.

Pearl's eyelids felt so heavy, her body sluggish. Sleep would be so nice. As her eyes fluttered closed, a bucket of water was dumped on her face.

She gasped, jolting up, then groaned at the lightning bolt of pain the movement sent up her spine. Pearl spluttered, coughing in a futile attempt to clear the water from her lungs.

She squinted up at the figure above her, blocking the sun from Pearl's burning eyes. The person's face was cast into shadow, but frankly she was in too much pain to care about who they were. Her body kept twitching from the muscle spasms, which led to more pain, which led to more spasms. On and on it went, a horrible self-sustaining cycle of Pearl's suffering. If this person was here to hurt her, then they probably couldn't do more damage than she had already done to herself.

"Hey, don't pass out on me." Cleo. So, the poor puppy runs home. If Pearl had any energy or will, she would've flinched at the bitterness of her own thoughts.

Pearl didn't do well on her own, even before the end of Double Life, where she literally became a pack animal. She didn't know how people like Scar and Joel and Grian stayed as loners for entire seasons, and then go on to win. But Pearl never felt capable with an entire alliance behind her. They were probably better off without her.

Poor, manic, deadweight Pearl. Sometimes she thought her ribs might crack with the weight of the heartbreak she carried. It sounded like a stupid bedtime story. Don't trust too fast, because if your heart gets hurt too many times, your bones will break because it is too heavy. Tears stung down her face. She didn't know if they were more from the constant waves of pain or her wallowing. Once, there was a girl. Her heart crumbled because it broke too many times.

"Pearl." Cleo's voice sounded thick. Were they sick? They should go to get that checked out. "Come on, we've got to get you inside, okay?" Their voice was horribly soft, and Pearl didn't even want to consider the state she was in. She would look pathetic. Pearl would bet two fingers Cleo pitied her.

"You have to get up," Cleo urged, swiping an impatient hand to push their hair out of their face. "People have health and healing pots inside." If Pearl had her voice, she would've laughed. What could make people give her their precious potions? Not many people risked a trip to the Nether, especially not this early-game. And to be honest, Pearl was never worth a whole potion.

Cleo started picking her up from the ground, arms straining to get Pearl on her feet. She wasn't huge as a wolf, but even as strong as Cleo was, she wouldn't ask anyone to try and carry her. As they limped around to the front of the house, the pressure on her paws grew. It felt like Pearl's legs were too thin to be holding up her body.

When she had stumbled for the second time, Cleo stopped. "Are you sure you want to walk in? I could get someone else and we could carry you in."

Pearl knew Cleo to be ruthless. She held her allies close but wasn't afraid to do what had to be done. Pearl didn't know this Cleo: voice soft, a kind hand running over the fur on her back. She didn't feel like she deserved this Cleo; clearly meant for her better friends.

Pearl shook her head. Something told her that she needed to make this journey alone. Which already wasn't true, but that didn't convince her. Cleo nodded, but they didn't look happy about it.

The thing was, Pearl would count herself as 'pretty observant'. Maybe not as much as Cleo, who had to be considering they were always playing a massive game of spot the difference. But she had pretty good eyesight, 20/20 and all that.

She was normally pretty observant, when she wasn't aching from the aftershocks of her transformation and not completely focused on the rivulet of sweat dripping painstakingly slow down the side of her leg. Which is why she failed to notice the enormous rock in her path. Cleo was even trying to nudge her around it, but Pearl carried on her path forward and, to no one's surprise, tripped. Her ankle twisted, jarring up her front paw.

A rolled ankle Pearl could deal with. But as she pushed to her paws against Cleo's protests, a horrific cracking noise filled the air. She froze as her front leg went numb.

"Oh God, okay, uhm," Cleo said. "Don't you dare move. I'm going to go get, I don't know, someone." Pearl opened her mouth to protest, but only a pained whimper escaped. Cleo looked back, smiling in a way that was meant to be comforting but just looked sad. "You'll be okay, Pearl. Promise." They ran off towards the front of the Hotel.

Pearl couldn't bear standing and the weight on her feet, so she lowered herself to the ground and laid on her flank. The numbness was beginning to wear off, and aches and pains were beginning to ripple up her right side.

She didn't remember closing her eyes and going to sleep. But suddenly she was surrounded by people and it was so bright.

"Hey!" Cleo said, voice getting louder. Pearl squinted at her, trying to put a hand in front of her face before realising she was still a wolf and might have broken her ankle. Pearl didn't know if she imagined Cleo's sigh of relief.

"Okay, you're going to be fine. Ren here has a healing potion, you need to drink it, okay?"

Pearl couldn't quite find it in her to move, and nodding seemed impossible. She cracked open her jaw a little and hoped that would be enough.

"Crap- Cleo, look at this." Ren said.

"What- oh, fuck." A hand felt along the side of her head. "Let's come talk over here, Ren." Cleo's voice had lost of all the softness it had when she was talking to her, now hardened and thorny. "Oh, good. Martyn's here. Listen, Ren, can you go watch Pearl?" They didn't give him a moment to respond before leading Martyn away.

Sometimes, Pearl thought Ren had the roundest puppy eyes in the world. They looked so sad, and she wanted to stop whatever was making him sad. Exhaustion swept over her. It sucked so much, not being able to talk to her friends. The only one she could talk to like this Scott. Where was Scott?

"Listen, Pearl, it'll be alright." Ren began, his voice shaking the tiniest bit over the last word. "Us dogs stay together, yeah?" Ren couldn't shift, all he had to show for his wolf hybrid ancestry the ears on his head.

"Uhm. Okay. Once, there was a little bird. It flitted around the trees, until one day, it fell. No one knew why it fell. It broke one of its wings, and everyone thought it was done for, so they left it for dead." Pearl's eyes fluttered closed, and she felt the fur on the side of her head was sticky and matted, sticking up in tufts. Spots danced along the back of her eyelids. "Hey, come on, open your eyes, otherwise you can't hear the rest of the story." She forced her eyes open. Ren placed a hand on the side of her face, applying careful pressure right above her eye. "Anyway, the bird was rescued by a little dog. The bird was petrified of it, because it was taught that dogs ate birds. But not this one. It helped it get better, and then once it was healed, it flew off and the dog never saw it again."

Pearl's chest felt tight, but not from the story. It wasn't particularly moving, another shitty bedtime tale. But she appreciated Ren telling it to her. Her breaths were wheezy and shallow, coming faster and faster. Her ankle radiated pain, and it felt like she had been thrown from a cliff into stormy waters. But her body felt lighter, almost floaty, leaving her pain behind. All she had to do was close her eyes.

The darkness was all-consuming and lonely, but at least she didn't have to hurt. Ren's voice sounded so far away.

"Wait, wake up, Pearl-" There was liquid going down her throat, but the little warmth it gave didn't stave off the dark's approach. Ren had wasted his potion, and on her.

Why did he? Why, when it was obvious that no amount of Instant Health would work on a corpse?

☆

Pearlescentmoon died

☆

Grian felt a terrifying numbness set over him. Pearl was dead. Pearl was dead first, and he had no idea why. And it wasn't like he could go to investigate, because the Strayed chose what he did and the deaths of his friends didn't seem like something it would care about.

They still hadn't gone to see Gem, not for his lack of trying to convince the Strayed that they should. Gem was an asset, and the Reaper would be stupid not to try get her. Realistically, all he had to do was wait, because they had to interact at some point, but Grian worried that the Strayed would send Scar to do all the talking for it. There was also the fact that no one knew he was being possessed, so she might decide to not believe him.

It was also pretty hard to bide your time and be patient when certain doom was imminent. It felt like all the odds were stacked against Grian. He was a prisoner in his own body, a stranger to his friends because they all thought he was a traitorous dickhead.

And, to add more fuel to the dumpster fire of his life, Grian could feel his time running out. Sure, the Strayed couldn't use his power, but it seemed to be drawing on it to keep his body going. The Strayed didn't need food or sleep or warmth, so it didn't think that its vessel would. His revenance was being drained, and he didn't want to find out once the well of power was dry.

Being a revenant had become a massive part of him. Once it was gone, if he didn't die, Grian wasn't sure he would want to continue living that way anyway. The first few weeks after Last Life, Grian would wake up screaming from nightmare after nightmare of his skull splitting on bedrock. He would always be in horrible moods, and often took them out on Mumbo, accusing him of being a fake friend because he let him die, let him fall. It was unfair considering Mumbo had called to him that Joel was there as soon as he saw the red.

It was Grian's pride that had gotten him killed. He, for some stupid reason, thought that he couldn't be hurt. He thought he was invincible because he had helped make this place. The power and his victory had gotten to his head and he'd paid the price.

It took time, and a lot of hard conversations, but Grian had come back to himself. Mumbo had forgiven him, and he had embraced the supernatural side of him.

And now, the Strayed was going to erase all of that. Grian wondered if he was ever going to see Mumbo again. Etho had banned him from their base, so he doubted it.

But he needed to focus. If his revenance was being drained, then Grian couldn't guarantee what would happen once he had nothing left to give. His hands would be constantly tremoring from weakness and exhaustion at this point if he was let any control over his body by now.

Snap out of it.

Grian needed to get to Gem very very soon. The Strayed had been frustratingly stationary for the past two days. At least it had finally figured out that it needed to eat to keep going, but so far it had only consumed a stale loaf of bread. Typical.

He had to face it. They were going nowhere soon, and his time would run out by then. But it couldn't. He had no doubt that if he died, and his body couldn't host the Strayed anymore, then it would move on to one of his friends, and he couldn't allow that.

Knocking came from the door at the front of the fort, startling Grian from his thoughts. The Strayed went to answer, dragging its (their? his?) feet. Scar stood in the doorway, BigB behind him.

Scar glanced back at BigB, before before talking. "Hi, uhm, G. We've done what you asked, but no one's really listened. Except for B here. Which you already knew." He coughed, trying to fill the awkward silence. So, that's what they were here about.

The Strayed had instructed Scar to gather all of those who would fight for it and bring them to the fort it had made a base in. And either no one cared, or they were too afraid to do so.

"No matter. You have been loyal." Scar was carefully blank, but Grian saw his mouth twitch down. The Strayed said it like it was a glowing compliment. "I have decided that they will be summoned in a… unique way."

Scar nodded. Without his hat to throw shadow across it, his face was radiant from the mid afternoon sun, the ridges of his scars lit in golden light. Grian noticed freckles tracing along his cheeks. They were cute. Snap out of it. Right. Incoming, unavoidable doom.

"If that's everything?" He trailed off, turning away. BigB had already started off, his eagerness to get away telling him everything. Grian unnerved everyone, and only Scar had the courage to see him often. He appreciated it, and he desperately wished he could speak to him as himself, but it was safer if he stayed away. Stupid, stubborn Scar, who always insisted there was enough room in his heart for everyone. If something happened— no. Grian couldn't allow himself to even consider that.

He would do whatever it took. He couldn't hurt his friends more.

The thudding of his (its? their?) body on the ground pulled from his thoughts. The Strayed had collapsed, and Grian could already feel his awareness slipping away. And for the first time since this shitshow began, the Strayed spoke to him first.

Do not fret. You may be foolish, but you must survive this.

Of course I'm fretting! I'm freaking out! We're about to pass out and you don't know when we'll wake up.

No, but it is necessary.

Awareness dawned on Grian like a bucket of ice cold water. This was all on purpose. The starving, not sleeping… what could you achieve from wearing us down to nothing?

I was simply opening a vacuum to be filled. Soon, you will be reborn once again, but not to that witless Reaper of the Pull. It will be glorious.

Grian was racking his brain for what vacuum it could be making, and the memory of his draining power came to the surface. Of course, how did he not see it before? Revenance could act like a second energy source, if things came down to it, but it was often easier to just use your power to escape that situation. And…

You've been draining my magic on purpose.

Yes.

How could you… waste it like that? What have you done? My body's running on dregs, how do you know that I won't just die?

You will survive. I have left enough for your weak body to continue until it is time. And your power… it has gone to a worthy cause.

Grian felt like being sick, even though he couldn't bring any bile to the surface.

You've stolen it. My-

His thoughts of betrayal were cut off as his body finally succumbed to the dark.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - own traitor 11/?, 25.6k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

scar shares his discoveries. reality sinks in. this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - cursed path 11/?, 25.6k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Pearl would be the first to admit it: she was not happy to see Scar. He seemed to anticipate this, though, and moved quickly past her with little more than a muttered 'hello'.

Honestly, after the debacle of yesterday, she had to say Scar had guts for showing up so soon. Most of the revenants on the server were not pleased to hear him travelling around recruiting, when they had just heard their Reapers rattling around in their heads about a choice.

It was hardly a choice. Scott had gotten to Pearl's base immediately after his meeting with the Reaper of the Wild. She had stayed stonily silent. She couldn't fight for Grian, not after what he had done. But then, Scott had reassured her that he had refused and she started thinking.

Why would Grian make his move? There was a lot they didn't know, but Pearl had the benefit of remembering some things before she was taken and others to help her fill in the rest. The main thing was that helmet — she suspected that was the cause of everything. Scott had mentioned that Grian sounded like a Reaper, so maybe those were connected. Her gut told her they were, but she couldn't afford to make a false accusation and give away her hand. But that didn't explain anything, and she couldn't talk to her Reaper to check. If she ever got to meet her Reaper, she was going to find a way to beat it to death with a stick. If only she knew her Reaper. If only she were a real revenant, instead of some shifter who paraded as one.

A knock on the door interrupted her pondering. Pearl was tempted to yell at them to piss off, but BigB called through it before she could protest. "If you don't open the door, I'm going to magic you into doing it anyway!"

"You make weak ass threats there, B." Pearl opened the door anyway.

"I just wanted to check in and all. How are you holding up? Especially after the… announcements, and the meetings. You know. After the everything."

Everything that had happened here. On Final Life. The name sounded foreign, twisted, like someone had dunked her underwater and was talking above the surface.

"Hmm." Pearl tapped a rhythm on her thigh. "I don't know, just bothered by how Grian's acting. He did something to Martyn, back at spawn, and it looked like he made him use his revenance and…" she trailed off.

"And made him Listen." BigB finished. Pearl didn't trust her voice to answer, so she nodded instead.

"I never asked him about his Listening. I should've, so I could support him when he was getting used to it, but I was afraid that it would be too soon. And then, I got reaped."

Martyn had died while Listening to the corpses of Jimmy and Mumbo back in Last Life, so his Reaper thought it would be funny to give him a better version of it. It was cruel, and not necessary at all, but Reapers weren't known to hold your hand after you died. If they did, Pearl probably would've met her Reaper by now.

"He did also try to kill Tilly. It's fair enough you didn't want to talk to him. Trying to interact with all of that going on in your head wouldn't have been helpful for either of you." BigB placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to feel guilty that you didn't do more."

"But then he won, and… I don't know, it felt like he had sorted it all out."

"Well, you won, and did that help your revenance at all? Fuck, did that help your trauma at all?"

Pearl perched carefully on her table, covering up her silence with motion. She sighed. "No, you're right."

"You and Martyn could relate, you know. You should've said something."

"But he has so many other people. You, Ren, Cleo, Grian… well." She paused. "Grian before this. But he doesn't need me. I don't think we've ever teamed up."

The change had been hard for Martyn. He had been offered a spot of Hermitcraft after his rebirth, but he declined because of the sheer noise. He took a break, staying in his home until he learnt to deal with it by filtering it out. Pearl just figured that she would clutter up his life, get in his way.

"Mhm, and you've never teamed up with Tango. Do you think Tango hates you?"

"I… would hope not?"

"That's what I thought." BigB smirked. "Look, Martyn's struggled with his Listening for ages, even before he got reaped. And Grian seemed to play on that. He knew that it's hard, and not only did he put Martyn in a situation where he can use it, he made him."

"Pretty shitty of him, huh," Pearl said.

"Yup. Martyn's spent all this time working to control it, and then that control is taken from him."

Martyn had described his Listening like a radio: it was all static in the background, until he adjusted and could focus on a specific channel. Before, it was like everything was play at once — Pearl would bet her entire cleaning business he'd gotten killer headaches.

"Look, I'm just saying that you shouldn't surprised if he does something like, I don't know try to kill Grian."

"That won't work," Pearl answered immediately. "We don't even know if Grian can be taken out of the series, and considering what we've heard about what he can do… he's more likely to get killed himself."

BigB nodded. "Yeah, which is why we have to watch him. The Reapers won't give a shit, considering they stay out of the series and let the Watchers do their thing." He rolled his eyes. "As long as we're around to use as their walking talking power vessels, then they're chill."

Reapers, as far as they could tell, were like a cousin of Watchers and Listeners, except the kind everybody wanted to fuck off to the other side of the world. Which they had — they all had their separate realms and actively despised the Watchers for exiling them. The one exception was Cleo's Reaper, the Reaper of Fate, who had interacted with them in Double Life.

Pearl pushed off the table. "Interesting how from what I've heard, Grian thinks that the Reapers are going to get rid of us. They act like they can, like they're not doing to die just like us." She began pacing. "Which makes me worried that they've found a way to."

Reapers were similar to Watchers in a technical sense, according to Grian and some research by Scott. The main difference was instead of feeding off emotion, they fed off the use of their powers. Because they couldn't technically do that in their realms, they evolved to channel that power. And so, revenants were reborn.

It was self fulfilling cycle, with the powers feeding the Reapers, which fed the powers, and so on. It was also why the Reapers needed them. Without revenants, their power would have nowhere to go, and they would have no food, and they would die.

So when Scott came to Pearl's base and said that they were trying to get rid of them, she'd laughed. The Reapers didn't have the balls to do that. And yet, they had. As much as she hated to admit it, revenants needed their Reapers just as much. The revenance is what kept their body alive.

Pearl hadn't met her Reaper, but she knew enough about them that if one wanted them gone, then it wouldn't stop after removing their powers. They would die in a much more gruesome way than magic withdrawal. Scar had been advertising wiping out their entire kind. People had said yes.

Anger burnt through her like a righteous flame. How dare they? These games had taken from her, again and again. She couldn't let her friends die. But they had fated themselves to that anyway.

"Hey, hey," BigB said, smoothing over her hair. The ears on top of her head folded back under his hands. "What's gotten you all worked up?"

She set her jaw, ignoring the bite of her growing canines into lip. "Nothing. We need to work out what Grian's planning, and why Scar's playing messenger boy."

BigB narrowed his eyes. Pearl was a pretty good liar, but BigB was so good at sniffing out her bluffs she wondered if his actual revenance was being a truth detector instead of persuasion.

Something in her expression must have made him relent, because he sighed and instead of pressing further he sighed okay. He pointed a finger at her. "But if you decide you want to talk about stuff, you better, okay? It doesn't have to me."

He paused, probably waiting to see if she would respond. When she stayed silent, he continued. "And if I hear that you're bottling things up again, I'm going to persuade you into publicly humiliating yourself. Okay?"

She huffed. "Okay, whatever, mate." BigB nodded and then left Pearl alone with her thoughts. Something was up with Grian. But Scar was the same old Scar — witty, persuasive, dealmaker, prone-to-death Scar. He had chosen this. He had chosen to kill them all. Pearl couldn't forgive him for that.

So, Pearl was not very happy to see Scar's scheming face. She, in fact, felt a lot like punching him right now. But the traitorous rat scurried past, knocking on Gem's door. She rolled her eyes as Gem actually let him in. Softie.

☆

Cleo knocked on Gem's cherry wood door, wincing as they yanked out a pink splinter. Gem really had to sand this down; that had been the third time she'd gotten a splinter from it this week. Gem cracked open the door, only enough to see her face. Cleo looked past her and raised an eyebrow at the shadow slotting itself in a nook. Scar was… quite the opposite of stealthy.

"Honestly, Gem, if you're going to harbour someone can they at least be good at hiding?"

The redhead sighed, letting the door open fully and glaring at Scar. "I told you, hide under the table. That," she gestured towards the decorative bamboo screen with her hands. "That is not under the table."

Scar shrugged, sliding out and waving cheerfully at Cleo.

Gem crossed her arms, leaning against the doorjamb. "How did you know he was here? Only Pearl saw him walk in."

Cleo shrugged. "I had a feeling."

Gem rolled her eyes. "No, you had a vision. Come in, then." She ushered them inside her cottage, closing the door behind her.

They settled around the cute table Gem had put against the wall. Cleo dragged over a barrel to sit on as Gem tapped her fingers against her chair.

"So, Scar. What brings you here?" Gem said.

"Well, you, obviously," Scar said, chuckling. He had skulk under his nails. Cleo shifted, getting their sword out and laying it across their lap under the table, out of sight of the others. It was better safe than sorry, and what made Cleo safe was ruthlessness. She couldn't afford to hesitate, especially not when the accusations against Grian kept piling up.

Scar took a deep breath, holding it as he mentally psyched himself up. Or at least, that's what Cleo thought he was doing. He could very well be performing a ritual for a Reaper to smite them on the spot.

"Don't tell Joel that I told you this, but yesterday he told me he was having trouble with using his revenance. I tried to use mine and… it was really, really hard. It felt like all the stores were gone. I felt… empty."

So he was psyching himself up, and there was no sign of Reaper summoning yet. But what he said… they were allowed free reign of their powers this season. And yet, he was acting like the dampeners were on.

Usually, when they competed, dampeners were activated around the arena to ensure no powers could be used and keep a level playing field. It was the same reason Grian, Jimmy and Skizz clipped their wings. On the second season, they had discovered that powers worked outside of the world border, but Grian turned a blind eye because he liked using the exploit as much as everyone else.

"You want me to try use my power," Gem realised. Scar nodded.

"Look, if you don't want to that's cool! I just- I don't think anyone else would do this for me. Etho banned me from his property, Lizzie secretly hates me, Pearl visibly hates me…" Scar trailed off.

"Alright, Scar. I got you." Her forehead creased as Gem concentrated. Cleo waited to hear her voice fill her mind. Nothing came, their thoughts the only thing in the otherwise silence.

Gem laughed, but Cleo could hear the strain in it. "I'm sure it's just a fluke. I mean, I am newly reaped..." Her voice tilted up at the end, betraying her unaffected facade.

Scar shook his head. "I think it's some form of dampener, except instead of pushing your power further down, it sucks it out."

"You can't prove that," Gem protested. "It's just me. It's just you. It's just Joel. It's just a fluke. You don't have enough evidence, Scar." She sounded resigned, like even she didn't believe herself.

"Well, luckily for us, a Revenant of Fate is also in this room," Scar said. His face had 'smug' written all over it, like he had just said checkmate. Cleo froze. It wasn't completely unlike Scar to throw someone under the bus, but usually it was himself.

"Ugh," groaned Gem. "Honestly, why can't anyone talk about me that dramatically? Is it because my Reaper's name is longer? That feels unfair."

Scar shrugged. "Revenant of the Perceived doesn't sound as cool as Revenant of Fate. Unlucky, Gem."

"You should know that I don't control my powers, Scar," Cleo said. It was one of the first questions she answered. No, they couldn't control fate, they couldn't control their visions, they couldn't control the future.

"But you can make supernaturally inclined predictions." Scar set his elbows on the table, folding his hands into a pyramid. Cleo had to give it to him, he usually didn't think that far forward in his plans.

Cleo certainly didn't pick when she had prophecies, especially long range ones, but if they thought about an event, she could guess the outcome and be right to some extent. Of course, destiny loved to be tricky — they learnt that the hard way. Their pride never fully recovered from the time they guessed they would get a dog and instead was swarmed by angry, rabid dogs. Etho still reminded them of her screams as she sprinted through the server.

Without a word, Gem pulled a compass from her pocket and set it spinning across the table.

"Face down," blurted Cleo. Sure enough, it rolled off the edge and onto the floor. It wobbled, then toppled forward, the dial meeting the floor. They frowned.

"What's wrong? You got it right!" Scar exclaimed, like he was surprised, like he hadn't seen her make a million predictions much more important than that.

"Yes, I did." They ran a finger down her sword. "But it was so vague. I should've been able to say that it would fall on the floor, or that it would wobble four times, or that you can see the chip on the back now."

Gem got up from the table and scooped up the compass. "Oh, there is! I've never noticed that before."

Cleo shrugged. They had gotten very observant since being reaped. The smallest difference could reveal if they had seen this before in a vision, and it was useful to see if their base had been trapped or tampered with.

"So, your powers work, but not as well as they should." Scar plucked the compass from Gem's hands and started flipping it in his hands. Cleo nodded. "What did it feel like, trying to use them?"

"Usually, it feels like there's these threads of energy running inside my ribs. To use my powers, I just have to reach for them and grab it. And, just then…" she paused. "It felt like half of them were dead."

"We do have a problem! I was right!" Scar pumped his hands.

Gem scoffed good-naturedly. "I feel like this shouldn't be something you celebrate about. Besides, we have bigger problems. I think we all agree that we would like to keep our powers and our lives, so we need to find the dampener and get rid of it."

"Maybe, we can ask one of our friends?" Scar suggested. "We should ask Etho! Etho knows things! But… he doesn't want me on his property. It was a horrible day, Gem."

Cleo brandished their sword. "Absolutely not."

Scar pushed aside the point of her sword. "Why? Strength in numbers, or something!"

"Because we don't know who's working for Grian. And it looks very bad for Grian at the moment, so I have every right to be suspicious of him. Which means I also have every right to be suspicious of you, Scar."

Scar didn't respond for a few long moments, the silence settling over them.

"I forgot about that."

Cleo barked a harsh laugh. "How could you? Everyone knows that you spent the entire day roaming around, asking people if they would fight for Grian and that Reaper of his. Asking for them to make a choice. And what does this great, new Reaper want? What does it think of us?" She jabbed a finger at the table. "It thinks we're a waste of space, of resources, of powers."

"Hey, maybe-" Gem interjected.

"No. He needs to hear it." A ruthless Cleo was safe. Cruelty was safe. They tried to ignore how Scar had curled in on himself. The compass stilled in his palms. "If you thought that revenants were a blight, you would get rid of them. And considering we rely on our revenance to keep living, the easiest way to get rid of them would be getting rid of our revenance. Guess what's happening, Scar? Say it."

Tiny predictions clamoured in their head. She could barely hear Scar's response over it. "Our revenance is being… removed."

"Yeah. It doesn't look great for Grian now, does it?"

Gem stood up. "That's enough, Cleo. Get out." Cleo opened their mouth. She didn't know what she was going to say, but they wanted to argue. It felt good to fight. It felt like she could finally say what she meant without having to check over their shoulder. It felt like being a massive bitch to her friends. "No. I don't want to hear it. Out."

Cleo paused, then nodded stiffly once. She closed the door as calmly as she could and tried to tune out Gem frantically apologising to Scar. They hadn't lied when she said that spreading this information about was a bad idea, but Scar had been right as well. They needed to ask around. And while Etho was a good pick, there was someone else they had in mind.

Consumed in their train of thought as they meandered down the path that curved around the lava pool, Cleo didn't realise there was someone else there until she slammed into them. Larry bleated from his platform as they swallowed the apology that bubbled to their lips.

"Oh, oh no- Cleo, mate, are you okay?" Pearl asked, grabbing their shoulders to steady them. She looked around, where Pearl had been standing slightly off the path.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

Pearl had the decency to look a little ashamed. "Maybe."

"Mhm," Cleo hummed. "Whatever. You're coming with me." She started towards the entrance gate out of their base without seeing if Pearl would follow.

"What-" Pearl jogged to keep up, like they guessed she would, boots rhythmically thudding against the dirt. "Where are we going?"

Cleo adjusted the flower crown in their hair. "We're going to pay Martyn and Scott a visit."

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - own traitor 10/?, 22.3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

how does it feel, when your eyes are not your own? this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - own traitor 10/?, 22.3k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [ao3 upload]

Grian had based in a valley, surrounded on the north and west with cragged mountains and a river to the east. In the middle, there was a fort, built of deepslate and cobblestone. It was highly defensible and extremely out of character for Grian, considering that they had barely made it through a week with the new rules. Normally, he'd still be roaming the server living out of a bed and sleeping in a field. This screamed paranoid. But, the landscape gave him an advantage, so clearly Grian would do anything to make them play by his rules.

So, Scar was quite surprised when Grian told him to meet him at spawn instead of his base after he made his rounds. The task was simple: he went around to all of the revenants on the server, ask if their Reaper had spoken to them, then pitch joining the Reaper of the Strayed. At least, it was simple on paper. Scar hadn't been anticipating the sheer amount of hostility he faced: from death threats by Ren to a ban from Etho and Mumbo's property to Lizzie forcefully ushering him out the door.

He didn't get it. What had Grian done? What had he gotten himself into that Scar didn't know about, that was obviously so bad that everyone hated him. Scar didn't want to be the villain again. Sure, he won the last time it happened, but the loneliness got to you. Hopefully the S Team would take him back.

"Well hello there, Grian!" He called. He bounded across the plains leading towards the spawn circle, joy carrying him towards the man. Hopefully, Grian wouldn't be able to see the caution and guilt that weighed him down.

"Did you complete your task?" Grian had the most curious of eyes. Normally, they were jet black, like the void, except without the little speckles that lit Martyn's when he used his revenance. A true void. But now, they were purple. It wasn't quite Watcher purple. It almost felt more sinister. Then again, he could be extremely wrong. It wouldn't have been the first time the reflection of Grian's glasses had played tricks with his eyes.

"Yes, of course!" He gasped, placing a palm over him chest in mock offence. "I can't believe you would think that lowly of me."

Grian didn't acknowledge his attempt at a joke. "How many agreed?"

"Oh." Scar felt so stupid for the twinge of disappointment he felt. How stupid, to get attached to someone like Grian, cutthroat, killer Grian, who murdered him on their first ever day. "Oh, yeah. Six, including us."

"Names, fool," he ordered. Scar's stomach hurt. His heart hurt. He was so stupid.

"Uh, us, obviously, Lizzie, Martyn, Impulse, Etho," Scar listed, ticking them off on his fingers.

"Seven, now. The canary, as you call him, could be convinced. Regardless, seven is not good enough. We require at least nine for it to be even."

"I don't know who would say yes though! I don't even know what I'm convincing them to get into!"

"I do not care." I do not care about you. "Find more revenants."

He nodded, staring at the floor. "O-of course," he stuttered, stumbling over the syllables. His tongue felt limp in his mouth, dry as a desert. Like the desert they'd shared. He was really, really stupid. He mumbled some form of excuse and left before he did something dumb like crying. Not that Grian cared.

Scar trudged away from the circle of spawn, kicking his feet through the long grass. He could go recruit tomorrow. He just wanted to go back to his base and sleep. He hoped that his friends weren't too mad at him.

A new farm had appeared in the S Team's valley. It looked like wheat and potatoes. They really had to start an apple farm for the late game. He made a mental note to go see if they had oak saplings; they probably would, considering that Joel's cottage was surrounded by oak fence posts.

He dropped from the lip of the cliff overlooking their base into a pool of water they had set up, frowning at his now-soggy socks. Scar shuffled towards his house, closest to the west wall, cringing at the squelching of his shoes. Ugh.

Scott slammed open Joel's door, looking at Scar. He did not like the grim expression on his face.

"Good, you're here," he said, smoothing back his teal hair. "Quick, come in."

Scar sighed, dragging himself towards the cottage. Scott stood by the door, waiting for him to enter before closing the door behind them. Scar flinched at the click of the lock.

"They're down there already," Scott said. Scar didn't reply, instead hauling open one of the 'decorative' spruce trapdoors that lined the floor. He crawled underneath it, dropping into the cavern below. A second splash told him Scott had landed as well.

Inside the basement, Skizz and Joel sat around a heavy spruce table in a chamber, furnished with dark oak panelling and smooth stone. Scott dragged out a chair and sat next to Skizz, motioning for Scar to take his seat.

"Well, Scar, you've got some explaining to do."

So, the time had come. Maybe he could beg Grian for a room in his base. Or he could build a new one! It was no big deal. It wasn't like he had spent two days straight this week shoring up the paths between their houses and planting food.

"Hey, man, we're not going to kick you out," Skizz reassured. Scar sighed in relief, then went red. What sort of teammate assumes that he'll get kicked out? The kind of teammate who's working for the biggest bad on the server, his brain supplied. What had Grian done?

"Uh, what do you want to know?"

Skizz and Scott glanced at each other, but Joel answered immediately. "Why are you working for Grian? You know, you could just break the alliance. We would protect you."

Scar shook his head. "I can't. My… my Reaper said that if I didn't side with the Strayed then it would Void me." His voice trailed off, and he was afraid that someone would ask him to repeat it. The words tasted like acid on his tongue. But clearly, it was loud enough for them to hear. Scott gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth.

Skizz cocked his head. "What does that mean?"

Joel answered, eyes boring holes into the table. It sounded dead, emotionless, like he was reading a paragraph out of a dusty textbook. "He'll lose all of his senses. It's like a sort of Limbo. It's highly unusual; Reapers usually won't interfere with their revenants. He would go mad. Evidence… past cases suggests its permanent."

Scar's hands shook. "It's… not a viable possibility, for me or for Martyn. And… no one's even told me what he's done! What has Grian done?"

"Did you not see what he did to Martyn at spawn?" Skizz exclaimed, incredulous. "That's not right, buddy."

"But— but that's just how Grian is," he protested. "You know, blaming him for being a Watcher is out of taste, and he needs friends!"

Scott looked so incredibly sad. "Scar, you don't have to defend him. It's okay to say you didn't want this."

Why didn't they get it? Grian needed friends. He need allies. He needed power. He needed Scar. That dark little voice cackled but you need him more. He brushed it away like a stray cobweb. "He needs more revenants. Scott, Joel, please?"

"No," Joel said immediately. "He messed up Lizzie. You messed up Lizzie!"

"What do you mean? What? I haven't done anything to Lizzie!"

A light mist hung in the air, a sign of Joel's growing agitation. "You put that skulk on her!" He jabbed a finger towards Scar, the Joel's hair growing wetter as the water gathered around his head.

"I didn't!" He protested. What had he done? Revenance with skulk was rare, but it couldn't have been him. Right?

"Stand down, Joel." Scott said. Joel bristled. "He genuinely doesn't know. Look, if you don't trust him, we can get Gem to verify. But we can't afford to not trust him. He's our team. You should know better."

The water evaporated, but humidity clung to the basement and Joel's anger shone like a second skin. Scar coughed into the crook of his elbow, trying to fill the tense silence.

"Can-" Scar cringed at how much he sounded like a kicked puppy. He cleared his throat. "Can someone tell me what I did?"

"You seriously don't remember?" Scott asked.

"Just lay off, Scott," Skizz said, throwing his hands up. It was exasperated, but lacked any of the usual affection. "It's okay, Scar, I didn't remember either. Scott explained to me when we took Lizzie in after she got here. I have to say, you did do a number on her. Um, her cheek was pretty badly bruised. It… almost looked like a handprint. And that's not even mentioning how Cleo lost her hand, but that's not your fault-"

"Cleo lost their hand?" If he had done that, and didn't even remember doing it, Scar would never forgiven himself. He would probably lay down at their feet and beg to be killed for penance or something along that line that further cemented his reputation as hopelessly devoted.

"Yeah, but Grian did it," Scott answered. "It's not your fault. But if you ever-"

"I can't leave, Scott. He needs me." I need him more.

Scott nodded, resigned. "Look, I won't stop you from making your choices, and we won't kick you out. We won't go with you, though."

"This is the best deal you're going to get," Joel warned. Scar nodded.

"Thanks for… explaining, I guess. And not kicking me out."

Skizz vaulted over the table, knocking over a flowerpot, and wrapped Scar in a warm, feathery hug. "Aw, Scar, we would never kick you out, buddy!"

Scott nodded in agreement, elbowing Joel to join in as discreetly as he could.

Joel coughed. "Right. Sorry I got angry, lad. It wasn't cool."

Scar rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks." The basement descended into awkward silence. After a beat, Skizz announced he would go upstairs to go find Impulse. Scott followed, wanting to make some cake, leaving Joel and Scar under the cottage.

"What actually happened with Lizzie? They said that she was beaten up, but I don't think I did that."

"You didn't." Joel affirmed. "But you knocked her out with your skulk. And, I'm pretty sure you did the same to Xisuma. It's blurry for me, so I think you should ask Lizzie yourself." Scar, thinking that was the end of it, turned towards the bubble elevator out. Joel called after him.

"Wait, Scar, could you do something for me?"

"Oh yeah, sure. What's up?"

"It's just, my revenance has been feeling a bit weaker. Like I can pull less molecules apart at a time. And… it's draining. It takes so much more energy. I used to be able to make a wave in two seconds. Now I can barely make a splash." Joel wrung his hands. Now that he mentioned it, he did look a little pale. "Look, I would ask someone else because I know that using your powers after finding out about… this is rough, but Skizz is just an angel and Scott can't really shift without Pearl, so…" He trailed off.

"It's fine." Scar said merrily, even though the thought of using his powers after he had hurt with them made him want to rip his hair out. "Um, are you cool if I use it on you? Or, we could get a mob or something." Scar offered.

"No, do it on me."

Scar breathed out an okay and rolled his sleeves up, gently placing his hands on Joel's forearms. He reached inside him, into that echo chamber in his heart, trailing his fingers along the well. He fished up his power, letting it course through him. He strained, focusing, bringing it to channel through his fingers.

Painstakingly, skulk veins spread from his hands. The lanterns swung more than they would in the wind, swimming through the air. He felt lightheaded, like he was floating.

"Wh- Joel," he gasped. "Let me- go."

Joel cursed as Scar swayed, his knees trembling. He grabbed elbows, lowering him to the ground.

"Come on, don't pass out on me." Joel whispered, his gruff voice laced with panic. Fear flashed through Scar as he shoved his friend away, his momentum pushing him in the opposite direction to fall flat on his ass. He curled into a ball, cowering in a corner.

"Please don't kill me." He couldn't tell if that was sweat from trying to use his power or tears on his lips. Maybe it was both. Joel held his hands up in surrender, showing his palms were empty. Or was it Joel? His vision was dimming, shadows creeping in the corners. Was this what X had felt like, skulk spreading up his neck?

It didn't matter if the figure didn't have a weapon. Fire flowed from Lizzie's fingers. Pearl and Scott could tear him apart. Etho could disappear. Joel could drown him on dry land with a thought. To be honest, Skizz could probably beat him to death if he tried hard enough. The Life series was dangerous. Scar took risks that he shouldn't, and paid the price often enough. And now, there was a figure looming over him in the swirling lantern light, he was going to die. Why couldn't he move?

"Scar. Scar. I'm not going to kill you. We're allies. Friends, remember?" Joel — it had to be Joel, no one else had that distinct emerald streak in their hair — slumped down on the wall next to him. He didn't comment when Scar moved just the tiniest bit away. "I know that things have been rough for you. My memory's spotty at best, but I remember Grian taking me with Etho and waking up here. I haven't asked Etho if he knows yet. He- I'm scared that he does. It… it got ugly." Joel wet his lips. "I can't imagine what it's like to wake up with nothing, to just assume that it's fine, and then your friend, your business partner, your whatever you and Grian are is the reason that everyone else is hurting. And now, this server is sucking away our magic. I don't know if it's related, but… I wouldn't put it past him."

Scar hummed in acknowledgement. "My Reaper didn't give me a choice. It just… told me pick the Strayed or die. Voiding is probably worse than dying, though." He let out a breathy laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "But it told me that working for the Strayed is the only way to keep our powers. So, if I don't then I lose everything. That's why I wanted you guys to work with him so bad. I want you all to be safe."

"I appreciate the sentiment mate, but… if Grian is really trying to get rid of our powers, then if we all side with him then there will be no one to fight. And I doubt that he'll just let it lie if that happens. There are going to be casualties either way, and allying with him will give you only a minor advantage. This is not the time to be divided, Scar. I know that there would be no danger if you just left, which we can't do, but… be safe, okay?" Joel's mouth was set in a thin line. It sounded horribly like a farewell.

Scar's paranoia had passed, but his weakness and nausea had not. He pondered why his powers had been so strained as he wobbled his way to the bubble elevator, letting the bubbles propel him up. Joel disappeared into the depths of his house without saying anything else.

He finally collapsed on his bed, examining his fingernails under the torchlight. The barest trace of skulk coated the tips of his fingers in navy webs. He hadn't even wanted to possess Joel. He'd simply wanted to spread the skulk. And the resistance… it wasn't like his body was disobeying. It was more like his revenance had nothing to give, like the well had gone dry.

Scar needed to find out what was causing this. Maybe he could visit some of his servermates and ask if they were also having trouble. Maybe he could deduce a common factor. But, he could do that tomorrow. His body screamed for rest, after the strain, and panic, and sadness of today. He would beat this. Scar would become powerful again, and he would never hurt his friends again.

[ogsoulless]

blinded golden - sworn inferno 9/?, 19.5k, ongoing. [FIRST] [PREV] [NEXT] [LAST] [tumblr upload]

how does it feel, when your eyes are not your own? this fic is part of @multidimensionbb's wip purge event!!