Chapter Text
It takes a few minutes, especially now that the sun is going down and the ground has been littered with explosions, from creepers and TNT alike. Martyn is waiting at spawn already, shifting his weight and keeping an eye out. So far, Martyn seems to be pulling the attention away from those focusing on Jimmy and keeping the Game going. Most of the Server, if not all, however, can tell that something’s off and haven’t really tried to interact with GET Rekt and Scott-and-Scar. They can tell things are going too fast, but no one has mentioned anything yet.
“I think I was wrong, about where his base was.” Martyn says in lieu of a greeting. “He’s quieter than usual, so I thought he must’ve been a hundred or so blocks away. But what if he’s just quieter? He could be closer.”
“Do you know where it is then?”
Martyn turns around and begins walking into the forest. He carefully steps on another set of footprints––his, most likely, based on their matching size––and Grian mimics. They only get about twenty-five blocks into the forest, certainly less than that first excursion that ended up with five yellows, before Martyn quietly speaks and looks at Grian, “Third to my right.”
It’s not marked, nor special in any way. Just another brown trunk and green leaves. “What?”
“Look at its root.”
Grian looks down at the root of the tree. It’s mostly surrounded by a thick tangle of bushes and roots, but just beneath it there’s water. Bubbling water. “That’s smart.”
“I know.”
“Too smart.”
“I know .” Martyn sighs. Then he rolls his shoulders and cheerily says, “I’m going to Cleo’s, if you want to come with me.”
He doesn’t wait for Grian to answer, simply begins crossing the forest right in front of the bubbling water. Grian follows for those few steps it takes to pass the three trees, and slips into the water without much noise.
The bubble elevator takes him much further down than he expected. Nearing two hundred blocks down. When he arrives, he comes upon a single big open room. There’s a bed tucked in a corner, underneath the only torch in the entire place, and it looks untouched. There’s a wall of chests to one side, that Grian checks quickly and blanches at how long it must’ve taken to get all the resources in there––had Jimmy been sleeping or eating at all?–– and on the opposite wall is any kind of crafting tool he might need. Leaning against the wall are several diamond swords, enough to arm their entire server.
He opens another chest, finding the same colored glazed terracotta Bdubs had spent three hours haggling with a villager for his base floor. There’s also a stack of smooth stone, and enough cobble to block all of Tango’s tunnels under their base.
“Grian.”
The voice behind him makes him jump. He turns around with a hand pressed against his chest, a joke at the tip of his tongue to try to bridge the clear chasm Jimmy had been building since the start of the Game. It all fades as soon as his eyes land on his youngest brother.
Jimmy looks awful, for starters. Dark bags under his eyes, no shine to his eyes, no color to his cheeks. But his hair is brushed back without a hair out of place, he has the Bad Boys leather jacket over his diamond armor, and two large yet unkempt dark-with-white-underneath wings hang from his back. Two wings that were not there when the Game began, nor ever before. Two wings that had each shaft of each feather outlined in an iridescent coat of purple, that turn the wings completely purple for a moment as the light hits them, almost like two competing superimposed pictures or a mirage flickering over desert dunes.
His stomach sinks as he backs away from Jimmy, hand going to the sword he forgot at the base when Martyn messages him. Jimmy takes a step closer, with an almost bored-like expression on his face. Almost, if it weren’t for the clear panic shining beyond the dullness of his eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
There are a thousand words bubbling around Grian’s head, but none make it past his lips.
Grian was slain by SolidarityGaming.
He springs up from his bed, short of breath, as he runs his hands down his chest. There’s no proof that a netherite sword skewered him. No hole, no blood, no rips in his sweater. Just his shortness of breath, and the buzzing of his communicator from where it fell to the ground.
He can barely hear thundering footsteps running through the base towards the beds over the high pitched buzzing of panic. There are hands on his shoulder, one set, two sets, three sets. He can’t even hope to recognize them other than that there’s too many on him. He tries shaking them off, feeling the panic seize his throat and his already wheezing gasps become inaudible as no air at all passes through.
The hands all leave him simultaneously, though he stares down at his own trembling ones in his lap. He ended up on the floor somehow, kneeling and half curled into his bed like praying before sleeping. Then a single hand, not his own, enters his spotty field of vision. It’s scarred and callused, and it lands on just one of his hands. On top, not doing anything else. It’s unequivocally human.
It slowly turns one of his trembling fists around, and unfurls in fingers like one would gently guide petals out of their pod past their flowering day. Another scarred hand lands on the other fist, and repeats the process, until both hands are resting flat on top of his own flat hands. As the weight of the scarred hands begins to register, solid but not heavy, sounds begin to break past the buzz of panic.
There’s footsteps and shuffling around them. There’s also a lot of sharp buzzing, though he can’t tell what it is quite yet. He knew at some point, but he just couldn’t tell what it was anymore. There’s quiet conversation, not clear enough to understand yet. But his chest doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore, and though his head is pounding, it’s clearer than before. He doesn’t think about it before he brings the scarred hands up to his head, and rests their knuckles against his forehead. It feels strangely familiar, strangely revering too. And, bless whoever owns those hands, as they don’t react and let him get this strange comfort in this sea of uncertainty.
Grian lets his body return to normal like that. With measured breaths, shaky hands holding someone else’s up to hide from the world that made him panic if only for a few seconds, and focusing on trying to organize the world around him into understandable concepts.
The shuffling is from two people to his right. They’re less frantic than they were a few seconds (minutes?) ago, and more of a weight shift. The conversation he heard is also from them, and though he can now understand their words, he willingly lets them pass through him without meaning. From their tone alone, it’s not a good conversation. The buzzing next to him is the communicator, vibrating against the stone floor. As he lets the world make sense, the only unattended mystery is the hands he is holding.
In a way that he’s not sure how to feel about, he knows who the hands belong to from the familiarity of the position alone. Not the scars, not the calluses, not even the faint smell of cat hair and the sweets from Scarland that still linger even across Servers.
He lets their joint hands fall back on his lap, though Grian refuses to look up just yet. There’s no words from Scar, who’s kneeling next to him at an odd angle since Grian fell almost facing his bed, but a single point of gentle pressure on the crown of his head.
Scar’s thumbs gently run up and down the side of his hands. It’s maybe from how the panic zapped away all his energy, or the fact that Scar was the only familiar land anchoring him, he shifts away from the bed and into Scar. The man takes no time to wrap an arm around him, and lean back so they’re both resting against the bed, with Grian’s head tucked against his shoulder.
The movement causes the other two, who are now easily recognizable as his teammates, to stop their awkward shifting.
“I’m an idiot.” He manages to croak out, looking up at Tango and Etho. Both look so out of place in their own base it’s almost funny.
Scar’s voice tuts from above him. “None of that.”
Grian shakes his head a little bit, frowning at the pounding headache it causes. “You were right, Tango. I should’ve called it.”
“What happened man?” Is all that Tango answers. Which is nice of him, since Grian deserved an I told you so or something worse.
“Found his base. He killed me.”
He? They? Who was even in control at that point. It certainly wasn’t Grian, who’d been keeping a tight leash on the Games to make sure nothing like this happened.
Grian rubs his eyes and sighs. He reaches for his communicator without leaving the safety of Scar––a past him would have laughed in his face for that sentiment alone. The first thing he notices is that there are more red names than yellow. His is obviously red now, but so is Joel’s and BigB’s. And Etho’s and Tango’s.
He frowns up at his teammates. “Why are you red?”
It’s Scar that answers with a nervous laugh and running a hand down the back of his neck. “Uh, I may have caught Tango as collateral trying to get BigB. And it killed Etho in turn.”
Grian can’t stop the amused snort that leaves him. It’s such a Scar kill, to accidentally get two of his own allies as collateral. “And I’m guessing I was Joel’s target?”
Etho nods.
Almost immediately there’s two consecutive buzzes.
PearlescentMoon was slain by SolidarityGaming
InTheLittleWood died.
“Wait, that means Jimmy’s got Scar? Can two people share a Claim?”
“System prioritizes yellows. And Scar’s the only yellow left, so if Jimmy killed his last Claim, Pearl, the system probably gave him Scar too.” Grian explains with an exhausted sigh before getting up. His legs still feel unstable under him, but he forces himself to stand.
“Which means he gets two birds, one stone. On literally anyone.”
“Should we kill me?” Scar asks. “Bring him down to red to?”
Grian’s shaking his head before Scar finishes his thought. “No, this way we at least know who he’s paired to.”
“And if Jimmy kills Scar… what happens to you?” Tango asks.
“I die.” Grian frowns, and mutters to himself. “Am I going to be the first out?”
Only Tango seems to hear him as the four head out towards the main base, and laughs quietly. The resources spread through their chests are scarce at best, nonexistent at worst. They weren’t meant to die this quickly nor this often. Nothing was meant to go the way it had.
“We should get Scott and Martyn here.” Etho points out as they settle around the room. Scar continues to hover at Grian’s side, giving him enough space to not feel suffocated by him but ready to catch him. Grian can’t tell if it annoys him or makes him fonder. “He’ll go for them first. We should go in pairs, too, so he can’t pick us off.”
“I’ll get Scott and grab some stuff from our base.” Scar offers.
“I’ll go with you, get Martyn on the way.”
As the two begin moving towards the door, Grian quickly grabs Scar by the wrist. “Thank you.” He whispers, only briefly making eye contact with Scar and then letting his hand go.
The man stands still for a second, and when Grian chances another glance at him, there’s a soft grin on his face. The one that makes Grian feel like even the dumbest plans will work out, but also that the world will end within minutes around them. “Always.”
Without any other words exchanged, Etho and Scar slip out of their base in the dead of night. Void, it wasn’t even proper sunset when Grian went to Jimmy’s base. While he grabs the final odd bits, Tango paces behind him. There’s unasked questions, that much is clear, but Grian doesn’t have the brain or energy to really open the conversation tactfully. He’ll answer whatever, at this point, but there’s no way he’ll start the conversation.
It only takes him five more minutes of pacing before Tango stops and turns to Grian. “Was it him?”
Grian looks at Tango, at the way he steps up to a chair only to clutch the back of it until his knuckles turn white. There’s a dangerous light flickering within Tango’s eyes, one Grian’s only heard about. It looks promising. “Did he ever tell you about the Watchers?”
“Not really. I know what they are though… Kind of.”
“I was Admin of a server, with a few people from here. I made a stupid mistake that in the long run ended up with me entering a battle of wits, of sorts, with the Watchers. And… well, a lot happened, but long story short, they’ve got Jimmy now.” As he speaks, anger begins filtering into his heart. His decade and some of everything he went through, summarized in a few sentences didn’t do his memories justice, but it clearly paints a picture for Tango, if the way his face loses color is anything to go off on. The anger begins boiling beneath his skin as he continues. “And we’re going to get him back.”
“How?” Tango sits down on the chair he’d been clutching, probably no longer trusting his legs to uphold his weight. “It took us this long to notice it.”
“Did it though? We all could tell something was wrong. I just got cocky and forgot that just because you leave your problems behind doesn’t mean they’ll stay behind.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“Dude, G. Are you okay?”
“No! No, I’m not okay!” Grian jumps from his seat and begins pacing through the base, fuming from only thinking about the beings that ruined his life. “These––these things hurt my Server, hurt me, and now they’re hurting my brother because I got comfortable! I must’ve forgotten to check the firewalls, or maybe they’ve been in since Third Life! Or maybe––”
Tango stops him with two well placed hands on his shoulders and a serious look of silent murderous rage on his face. Not aimed at him, but at the beings possessing Jimmy. “That’s a lot of maybes, dude. Ever consider it’s just their fault?”
Grian sags a little. “I don’t know how to get rid of them, Tango.”
“How did you do it last time?”
“I found a loophole in the deal and ran away to Hermitcraft, one of the Servers with the most notorious protection set ups.” Grian rubs his face. The little devil that lives in his chest continues to sing for their blood, for revenge, for action. But it’s not just a Grian-thing anymore, the rest of the server will be in trouble.
“So, we find a loophole in Jimmy’s deal and get him out.”
“We don’t even know what deal he made––if he even made one.” The communicators resting on the table buzz twice, and both snap their heads to look at it with trepidation. The sky cracks with two bright flashes of light and echoing thunder. Tango takes the brave step to grab one and flips it over. “What does it say?”
Tango moves it for Grian to read, and all the anger resurfaces again. “That’s it. Tell the others to meet us at spawn.”
Grian grabs his communicator, his sword, and begins typing as he heads out of the base and towards spawn. Tango scrambles to follow, grabbing his own sword as well
PearlescentMoon was slain by SolidarityGaming
ImpulseSV died.
<Grian> Jimmy meet at spawn. Now.
<Tango> etho scar, meet at spawn too
It’s concerning the lack of responses, but Grian pays it very little attention as he storms there. Jimmy is already standing there, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His posture is all wrong, and Grian feels more than hears Tango’s hiss at how wrong Jimmy looks.
“‘Ello gents.” There’s a too-cheery smile on the blond’s face that makes Grian want to smack it off him.
“He has wings?” Tango asks under his breath.
Grian doesn’t answer as he strides up to his younger brother and decks him. Jimmy stumbles backwards, clearly not having anticipated the hit. He slashes him once, twice, and a third time, before Jimmy disappears before them and their communicators buzz.
SolidarityGaming was slain by Grian.
“GRIAN!” Tango’s voice reverberates in the emptiness of spawn and against the nearby buildings. Grian doesn’t turn to look at Tango. He knows what he’ll see, the tone alone is enough. But it’s fine. This is not the first time he’s had to kill someone he loves for the sake of everyone. Far from it, in fact. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Jimmy walks out past the tree line with his eyes set on Grian, netherite sword still stained and resting nonchalantly against his shoulder. His wings are no longer dark-and-white with illusionary purple, but rather shifting from royal and to void-dark purples and back. They’re bigger, too. Certainly bigger than Grian’s, and though they don’t quite touch the floor, they drag behind Jimmy with every step.
Grian raises his sword defensively and waits. He feels more than sees other players arrive at the scene, and the way Tango quickly stops them from walking any further by opening his arms, holding them all back. They stand in a half-circle behind him, silent conversations passing between them. They may have been oblivious before, but even they could tell something was wrong with Jimmy.
Jimmy grins, exhilarated that his kill will be witnessed by a Server-wide crowd. His eyes tell another story, far behind the unnatural lilac that has taken over the baby blue irises. “You’re a bad sport, G. Didn’t even say hello.”
He swings and netherite quickly meets his sword, inches away from Jimmy’s face. They struggle with their swords clashing against each other in a sick version of arm wrestling, before Jimmy manages to shove him back. The taller one doesn't even look winded, while Grian stumbles back a few steps in an attempt to regain his balance.
Jimmy tsks and shakes his head. “You know, it’s no fun when you’re not playing fair. A whole server against one?” In one smooth movement, Jimmy raises his empty hand from behind his back, and points a crossbow just past Grian’s shoulder.
Grian barely has time to turn around before he sees a rocket hit an already-bruised and battered Scar, both eyes widening at the same time.
GoodTimeWithScar went off with a bang.
Grian died.
“Well,” Jimmy grins down at Grian’s crumpled body before him, “Let’s keep playing, huh?”
All Grian can do is stare as hell breaks loose before his ghostly form. A tentative hand lands on his incorporeal shoulder, and as he turns, he meets his twin’s eyes. Grian quickly pulls her into a tight hug, as tight as a spectator can do, and wills his incorporeal heart to slow down. He can see Impulse standing just a few blocks away from them, watching the carnage occurring around them wide eyed.
“Are you okay?” He manages to croak out.
Pearl nods and pats his back, graciously not shoving him off. “Griba, what’s going on?”
“Watchers, again.”
There’s a pair of twin gasps near them that cause them to separate and turn. Skizz and Etho stand by Impulse. The former is leaning against Impulse, rubbing a hand over his ribs trying to smooth out the ache of a deathblow. “Dang it! When did he get so good at this?”
The twins join the group, moving to stand just outside the fight, at the same time BigB also appears by them. “That’s not Tim,” Pearl answers. There’s a murderous, if not unhinged, look bubbling in her eyes as she glares at the back of their youngest brother.
BigB takes one look at Jimmy and groans. “For real?”
“Yeah.”
Another player crumples in the fight, and Bdubs appears near them coughing. Impulse and Etho immediately descend upon him to help him up and check on the man. Scott and Cleo follow soon after, though none of the spectating ghosts can tell who died and who was collateral. The redhead looks at the varying levels of anger, fear, and worry, and shakes her head before joining them. Scott leans against her and whispers to her what they’ve been dealing with. Not that he knows it's the Watchers, since so far only players from Evo and those present during Grian’s panic attack knew about it, but he does his best.
Grian watches as Scar, the last yellow turned red, sneaks behind the fighting and sets up a simple TNT-minecart on powered rails. Jimmy seems none the wiser as he strikes down Martyn with a well-placed rocket to the face, which also causes Joel to crumple from where he was setting up his own TNT-minecart.
Martyn appears next to the group just in time to watch Jimmy turn around and hit the minecart back with his sword, the impact somehow not detonating and instead flying back towards Scar. “That’s my technique! Knockback was my thing, copycat!”
They all watch Scar’s eyes widen and fail to escape the explosion. He appears in the same spot he died, looks at them and does a what can you do motion by letting his hands fall against his side. He jogs up to them, briefly squeezing Grian’s shoulder before letting go and turning to the last fight.
They all watch Jimmy turn to Tango, who is looking worse for wear. He holds one of his arms with a pained grimace, a river of blood flows down the side off his face, and there’s a slight limp to his walk as he approaches.
Jimmy grins.
The spectators watch in dead silence. They know how it’s going to end, of course they do.
They watch as the sword slides in and sticks out the back of Tango’s jacket, and hear the gasped breath as the sword slides out. And like a man on a mission, he takes another step forward. He cradles Jimmy’s cheek with a bloodied hand. “Please come back… C’mon you… jerk…”
The netherite sword clatters on the ground as Jimmy catches a quickly fading Tango against his chest. “Tango? Tango, hey, no, no, no…”
There’s a quiet chuckle that quickly turns into a wet cough. “It––it’s okay, we’ll figure it out. It’s okay, it’s okay…”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Jimmy sobs over Tango’s body and Grian can’t look away. The rest of the spectators have turned away to give them privacy, but Grian’s frozen. It’s a familiar picture he never saw before, but knows intimately.
He glances to his side, to a scarred face who is turned away and quietly chatting with Bdubs. There’s no blood on this form of his, not postmortem, but Grian has been seeing stains since the first Game anyways. And he looks from Scar to every single player he invited to this Game… to every Game. He looks at his sister, at his brother-in-law, at his Evo players, at his Hermits. And finally he looks at Tango, still crouched and muttering sweet nonsense to the only living player. And he looks at Jimmy. His Tim.
Grian walks up to the two. He knows they’re not gone, just pushed back deeper into Jimmy’s mind. There’s no more game for them to feel the need to control Jimmy, but his wings are still purple. “Tango,” he says and brings out his Admin communicator, “get ready to catch him.”
Tango nods.
SolidarityGaming fell out of the world.
Almost immediately, Jimmy’s incorporeal form falls forward from his body, as it crumples on itself. Tango wraps his arms around him, rocking him and pressing kisses to his head. A hand runs down soft dark feathered wings.
Grian turns his back on the two, looks up at the sky and lets the anger that’s been boiling inside take over. He takes a deep breath, and yells at the sky with all the air in his lungs.
“I want to make a deal!”
Everyone snaps their head to look at Grian startled and watch as between a blink and the next, the sweater-wearing man disappears.
An entire hour goes by before Grian appears again. Most of the players have sat around, in a facsimile of that first break that feels like an eternity ago but was in fact less than a week. Martyn’s the first one to snap his head up and turn towards the forest, and just like Jimmy had done before the battle, Grian walked calmly out of it.
“Alright, everyone, gather––”
The chorus of exclamations and sounds drown his words. They all rushed towards him, most looking him up and down to see any injury or harm but finding nothing other than the aftermath of fighting with Jimmy.
Pearl is the first to reach him, with a strong punch to the shoulder before dragging him into a hug. “What is wrong with you, Grian?! A deal?!”
He pats her back gently and Pearl lets him go. “I’m okay. Now, c’mon we gotta go.”
“Wait, wait, what deal did you make?” Martyn asks. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at Grian, wishing not for the first time that he could Listen to people’s thoughts. Grian, however, looks pretty calm for someone who was just in the presence of the Watchers––who had been haggling with them. “Mate, you’re insane, we get it. But we’re not letting you take the brunt of a deal again. You get that right?”
“It’s fine,” he laughs lightly. His dark eyes survey the group. The Hermits have been quick to adjust to the new threat, as they are wont to do. Unless the Evo players said anything, they are running on very limited information, but Hermits were known for being more of a threat with less information. The Evo players are looking at him cautiously. They’ve dealt with all of this before, they know how quickly things can go wrong. And those who were from neither Server are looking at him expectantly. They don’t know much about this stuff, but they know it’s not good. “Look. They’ll give us a portal out, so I’ll make it to Hermitcraft. Xisuma can check everyone for any type of code damage––which there won’t be––and then help everyone home.”
“In exchange of what?” Martyn asks.
Grian sighs. They are a tough crowd to sell. “No more Games. They, uh… They knew how much the Games mattered to me, so. It’s the only thing they’ll accept.”
He finally looks at his family. Pearl still has a hand on his shoulder, and her fingers dig a little harder as the words register. Joel is next to her, and though he’s not as knowledgeable about the issue at hand, he seems to get it as well. And Jimmy has one hand tightly clutching Tango’s like a lifeline, the other tucked against his chest in a sheepish attempt to make himself smaller. He doesn’t make eye contact with Grian, simply swallowing thickly and looking at his feet.
“You alright, Timmy?”
Blue eyes flicker ever so briefly to meet Grian’s. “I’m so sorry, dude.”
“Why’d you make a deal with them?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible. Non-accusatory. It doesn’t work all that well based on Jimmy flinching and how he tightens his grip on Tango's hand, who runs a calming hand down his arm.
“I was… tired. Of being a disappointment. And I didn’t really think about it when they––” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
Grian puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in the same way Pearl squeezed his. He gets his voice down to a firm whisper. “You’re safe, you’re okay. Your deal is done, completed, and you get cool wings out of it. No harm, no foul.”
Jimmy’s eyes widen as he stares down at Grian. “Their deal’s are never––”
“Yours is done.” Grian turns around to the rest of the group. “But we gotta go, now. Before they change their mind. Pearl and Tango, take Jimmy first and get Xisuma. Tell him what happened and that I’ll be there in a sec, I just need to make sure everyone goes through so they can’t cheat us out of our part.”
Pearl and Tango nod decisively, and though Grian doesn’t look at him again, he knows Jimmy is still staring.
“Pair up, Hermit with non-Hermit to help passing the firewalls.” He calls out with a loud clap of his hands. A few open their mouths to ask questions, but he just claps again instead. “C’mon everyone, we really shouldn’t look at the mouth of a gifted horse. Let’s get moving!”
He moves around the group to the center of spawn, and with a few commands on his Admin communicator, a little vertical line made of void appears before him and stretches downwards. As it reaches the ground, it continues expanding horizontally until a portal is opened before them. Grian stands to one side, and barely notices Scar taking the other.
Pearl and Tango help the still-shaken Jimmy through first. They’re careful to not disturb the place where the portal and ground meet, knowing it’ll close the portal. The next set is Scott, Cleo and Martyn, the last giving Grian a look before walking through. Next are Impulse and Skizz, the former still feeling the aches of being the first one out. After them go Scott, Etho, and BigB, to whom Scar gives a reassuring smile, and are soon followed by Budbs with Joel.
Grian turns to look at the portal, Scar coming up to stand beside him. Scar begins to take a step towards the portal and Grian quickly grabs his wrist.
The words take a second to get past the knot in his throat. “Can I–– Can I ask for a favor?”
Scar frowns down at Grian. He still doesn’t look back at him, instead focusing on the inky gaping void before them. “Yeah, of course.”
“Can you… help me look after my siblings?” Grian turns to look at Scar, and immediately knows that was the wrong move. Scar’s frown deepens, and quicker than Grian had ever witnessed, understanding crosses those green eyes. “I thought I could do it alone, and I clearly can’t, so…”
There’s a pause between them. A silence that the void seems to swallow up. “Don’t lie to me,” Scar finally says. “Why are you not coming with us?”
He still tries to fake a confused laugh, but it comes out strangled. “Wha’? That’s not––”
“Grian.”
Scar’s eyes are wide, and so fearful that the mere idea of trying to continue lying makes him want to throw up. He steels his nerves, clears his throat, and answers truthfully for the first time. “I’m playing another Game. Me versus them, until I win. In return, you all go home, and I join you once I win.”
“They’re omni––omnipulos.”
“Omniscient, yeah.”
“It’s a trick. It––It’ll be a loop, Grian.” Scar stutters as the weight of the deal finally clicks. His hand immediately grabs Grian’s, tightly. “Don’t. Don’t do this. There’s another––we can make a different deal, we can…”
Grian shakes his head as Scar tries to come up with solutions. Nothing will work. “I already cheated them out of one deal, they won’t… I won’t let them touch you. Any of you. I have too much to lose to risk it. Please… just… I need to know they’ll be okay. At least until I win, and go home.”
They both know that the last sentiment is empty, and Grian watches Scar shake his head. Neither say anything for another moment. Just silence, hands tightly clutching each other, standing in front of a void that’ll separate them forever. And then Scar takes a shaky breath and runs his empty hand down his face.
When his hand leaves, there’s a small smile on his face. It’s one of his confident smiles, one that usually spells trouble for Grian, yet he can’t help but be glad he gets to see it one last time. “And you’ll win,” Scar says, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You’re a menace.”
A small laugh escapes him at the blind faith. Leave it to Scar to make him laugh at a moment like that. He squeezes Scar’s hand one more time and let’s go. There are… a lot of things he wants to say. A lot of apologies to make, but he’d rather this be their last conversation than bringing up any of his problems. “Thanks, Scar.”
Scar takes a step back, shoulders squared back with a little lopsided grin. “But I’ll always be here for you, anyways.”
And Scar dumps a bucket of water at his feet. The water rushes up to the portal and severs its connection with the ground. In no time, the portal is closed, only the running water signaling it was ever there to begin with.
Grian’s eyes widen and his heart stops. “SCAR!”