wc: 2049 

tw: death, blood

this is quite a hefty chapter

Everything was going to... how to find a PG version to say it? Crap.

Because Grian was a red name again (memory of an arrow piercing his back, purple particles filling his vision as he hurled the pearl and forgot how the teleportation tugged at your heart, felt it become too much as his body pulled itself apart) and he was on edge.

Jimmy was gone, exiled. Grian had lost a steady stream of contact with him, but after some strange turns of events, he had ended up with Martyn, Jimmy himself, and Mumbo.

It was Mumbo's fault, really, for making such an idiotic mistake.

<MumboJumbo> martin I have a deal for you. Come through my bunker

Ignoring the fact that Mumbo had misspelled Martyn's name, Grian quickly made his way over, immediately suspicious. The drone of voices had seemed to fade into just a constant buzz, and he'd learned to accept what they said sometimes, because when it wasn't about death, it could be useful.

Suspicious

Why the word 'through?'

Grian didn't have the answer to that, all the more reason to dodge trees to make his way to the Southlands.

"Mumbo?" he called, emerging by Mumbo's bunker. He saw the iron door, thought no thank you, and mined a whole in the wall and hopped through.

The first thing he noticed was the pressure plate right behind the door, which he immediately put in his brain as dangerous. Mumbo himself was leaning against the wall, boredly tapping a finger on his arm, suit jacket long gone and only wearing a dirtied white button up and rolled up pants, tattered tie hanging loosely from his neck. I could choke him with it, if need be, Grian thought, and immediately felt a sharp stab of guilt.

"Oh, hi, Grian," Mumbo said cheerfully. He stared at the door.

"You're really taking this red name thing seriously," Grian said idly, sitting down by Mumbo calmly.

"What do you mean?" came the quiet reply. Mumbo's hands stilled.

Grian turned towards him, eyes tired. "The more serious you take it, the happier they will be," he said. "But maybe for you, being complacent is better," he muttered as an afterthought, fingers drifting towards the collar of his jumper and tugging it a bit.

"What?" Mumbo asked, voice trailing off in confusion, before Jimmy and Martyn made their presences known with crunching leaves and lowered voices.

"Anyway, all I know is that I'm not walking on that pressure plate," Grian said, indicating the little stone plate that lay right in front of the door, for any unsuspecting visitors to step on and most likely blow themselves up with.

"Why not?" Mumbo asked innocently as Martyn swung absent mindedly at the stone brick wall with his pickaxe.

"Don't use the words walk through," Grian told him. Instead of replying, Mumbo suddenly produced a block of obsidian, and knowing the explosion that would come with it, quickly vaulted over the half broken wall into the greenery, back hitting an unseeable obstacle. He turned and saw nothing, but when he raised his hand, a purple sheen shone. A border.

"Grian?!" Martyn exclaimed, and Grian turned to see Mumbo's end crystal meeting obsidian and his hand reaching out to explode it.

Without thinking, Grian's hand swung out, and the end crystal dissolved in purple sparks.

A noise of confusion escaped Mumbo as his hand closed on empty air. "Where did it- my crystal-"

Grian felt Martyn's gaze on him, but he said nothing and only tightened his grip on his sword.

He climbed onto the roof of the bunker with a few well timed jumps and broke a hole in the ceiling to peer down at the pressure plate.

"Maybe we should try to activate it," Grian mumbled.

Throw something! The voices chanted. He took one of the broken pieces of stone and tossed it onto the pressure plate. It didn't budge.

"Should have used a wooden pressure plate," Martyn chimed in, crouching next to Grian as he observed the experiment. In the back of Grian's head, somebody asked, Where's Jim?

Before he could reply, he was aware of hands on his back, and he was tumbling into the bunker, twisting in the air and landing a foot away from the pressure plate.

"Not even close," he crowed, but the voices were rapidly rising in volume, in anger.

He took a few cautious steps backwards and turned to see Jim, with an expression of dulled horror and confusion.

"Jim?"

Jim didn't reply, but Grian was soon distracted with Mumbo breaking the blocks under the pressure plate. A corner of white and purple peeked out from a jagged hole in the stone, and Grian yelped triumphantly.

"I can see the end crystal!" he exclaimed, when he was aware of something hitting his back.

The uproar was instant; the voices pinned the blame on Jim, and they were right, so Grian turned and he started swinging.

And he didn't stop swinging.

Until Jimmy fell from the hill in his attempt to escape, collapsing into a heap at the foot of it. His eyes were open, and didn't blink.

The first death.

The voices were happy, so Grian was happy.

Mumbo was next. The voices were angry about his end crystals, so Grian was angry about his end crystals.

Green and brown flashed in Grian's vision as he chased after Mumbo. Mumbo's legs were longer, but Grian was stronger.

"Come back, Mumbo!" he screamed, voice hoarse from laughing. And Mumbo turned back, a flash of hope, or whatever that was, in his eyes. And Grian hesitated, because those red eyes weren't Mumbo's.

But the sword was already moving, and in between one breath and the next, Mumbo left.

Grian stared uncomprehendingly at the body in his hands. Mumbo's hair was slick with sweat and dirt and not being washed for days, and Grian brushed it back to see his face.

His eyes were back to brown, mustache unkempt. His face was pale, paler than normal. And cold, Grian thought, as his hands brushed over Mumbo's skin.

And then, the anger.

Even the voices subsided, because Grian was furious. His anger boiled over the top of the pot, froth falling into the flames and causing them to spark even more.

He stood up, Mumbo's body crumpling to the ground again, red staining his hands and shirt and shoes and the grass, and he stomped and he screamed his agony. Because the Watchers had killed his friends, had forced them into this cruel game, where no one would really win. And they forced him to- to-

Grian made his decision then.

He staggered towards the pond nearby and collapsed at the edge of it, fingertips just brushing the water and eyes staring down. For the first time in a long while, Grian took a moment to consider.

Consider the black hair roots climbing slowly out of his head. One particular section was growing particularly fast- perhaps a streak was in progress.

Consider the unsuppressable glow that was starting to fight into his eyes. Someone had told him that emotion is the drive. People tell you to keep tabs on your emotions, keep them in check. A slow inhale; Grian could practically hear it now. No. The more you use, the more powerful you will be. That kind of emotion? That is what will win you battles.

Consider that a long time ago, he had showed Mumbo his wings and gone to Xisuma because he hadn't been able to breathe.

He'd taken a potion every day after that, but here, he didn't have any, yet he was fine and its disappearance had had no effect on him.

Grian shook his head. He'd consider all of that later.

He kept his eyes on his reflection as he stood, summoning that emotion into his hands. The last time he'd used a lot of magic, it had not gone well, and Mumbo had carried him to Xisuma and it was a little embarrassing, the things he'd said.

But Grian knew he was stronger now. He'd spent hours back in Hermitcraft checking the code, building up endurance to what it had used to be and eliminating threats in the firewall with renewed efficiency. Now, all he had to do was use it.

He clapped his hands and sparks flew off of them. He glared at the sky, opening his hands. When he curled them back into fists, he was at spawn.

Spawn. Satan's spawn, Grian liked to think. Where you'd appear when you first joined the world, oblivious and ignorant. Well, he didn't care.

"Whoever's watching." His words curled into the slippery language of Galactic, smooth and rolling off his tongue. "Xeluph. I'm sick of this. I-" He sucked in a breath. "I fell for your trap, didn't I? I let the voices get the better of me. I let you get the better of me.

"Well, I'm done. I'm willing to negotiate. Get me and my friends out of here, alive, and no tricks. No traps."

A purple rectangle unfolded in front of him and the air inside of its glowing borders disappeared, showing Xeluph. His mask sat upon his face, pristine and perfect in every way. A condescending smirk rested on his lips, and Grian held back the urge to reach through smack it off.

"Do you surrender?" Xeluph asked, voice soft and malicious.

"Make this believable," Grian replied, waving his hand and closing the window. A great offense, and practically no one could do that to a hologram that someone with power like Xeluph had created, but he didn't care.

He took a few steps back. The clouds rumbled with Xeluph's anger, but did not let loose, and Grian watched as obsidian and bedrock and purple glass twisted upon themselves to construct two things.

First, a player portal, or an admin one. It was simple, purely for the server to get back to where they were.

Second, the portal for him. Grian. It wasn't lit, but the broken rectangle pattern was recognizable anywhere. He ran his hands along the bedrock, checking its code. Of course, most of it was blocked, and he couldn't get much, but he could tell what kind of portal this was.

A revealing portal. If Grian was going to accept, then he'd reveal himself, and forfeit his relationships, in order to do so. Something cold curled deep in his gut.

Lastly, a shimmering purple line drew itself in the grass, a circle around the portals, the boundary.

Grian understood- the Watchers were cruel, but they didn't want to hurt anybody if it wasn't going to be of use. The Hermits were practically useless, just used as leverage against Grian. He thought of the Evo members; perhaps one or two of them would be welcome (Martyn's gaze flashed before his eyes, the indescribable serenity he felt around Pearl shot up his spine) but most wouldn't.

So he took a deep breath and clapped.

There was a vwoosh. Everyone appeared, all in various states of confusion. Grian joined them, taking a step back as he took in the scene. He couldn't stop the shiver that went down his spine at the sight of the Watcher symbol.

A book flopped on the ground, right in front of the line. Grian risked a quick dash, snatching it before backing up again.

"What's happening?" someone asked; Grian was too distracted to try to tell who it was as he flipped through the pages.

"All into the obsidian portal except for one," he read, and the entire server hushed. He turned a few more pages, feeling nauseous, despite knowing what was going to happen.

"You know who you are."

The book fell to the ground, pages ripping, as Grian took a step back. A beat.

Now! And the voices were back, pressing at his brain. Now, now now.

So he took a deep breath. As conversations began to start up around him, he gathered his courage.

He took a step forward, tip of his boots brushing the edge of the circle.

But there were other footsteps. He turned to meet a shocked expression.

"Martyn??" he couldn't keep himself from saying, voice intertwined with confusion.

"Grian?!" Martyn gasped at the same time.

Somewhere, a palm slapped a forehead.

AAHHH its done. 

i wrote like the first 500 words over the course of like a week, then speedran the last 1.5k out of pure spite.

reminder: constructive criticism is greatly encouraged and appreciated, please do not hesitate to drop some in the comments :3

thank you for reading! have a good day or night, wherever you are!

-Ete