No one’s POV

Two Days Ago

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Eight people sat around a campfire that seemed infinitely useless, considering that it was the middle of the day. The whole group was discussing memories or something, and the one labeled Cultie just offered to restore a being named Hels’s memories. Wels, whose body was host to Hels, immediately agreed, and the two—three, if you consider it that way—disappeared into one of the vans. 

To say that the vans were not exactly small would be an understatement. Wels pressed a button on the inside of his, and the floor disappeared beneath them, sending Cultie sprawling in the air and letting out a shriek. It really was a shriek, too; it was almost inhuman. They landed on a platform of carpet-covered slime blocks. Wels hopped off with the gracefulness of someone who has done that hundreds of times, and Cultie stumbled forward with the gracefulness of someone who has done that zero times. 

“A little warning would have been nice,” Cultie muttered while fixing his hood. “Talk about a trust fall.” 

Wels laughed. “Yeah, but that would’ve ruined the fun! I have been waiting for a very long time to surprise everyone with that,” he said with a grin. He readjusted his helmet’s visor, which too had gotten displaced in the fall, and fixed it from covering his eyes. 

At his second sentence, Cultie perked up again. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “So it’s my understanding that you remember everyone?” 

Wels nodded. 

“Why?” He sounded like a child asking his mother why he couldn’t have a lollipop for dinner.

Wels responded with the same indignancy, “That’s the thing; I have no idea! All I know is that one moment, Xisuma was asking us to meet him somewhere for… something or another, and then the next minute, I’m here and no one recognizes me.” He led the two of them into a room with a few bits of furniture and sat down on a couch. Cultie remained standing. “I was genuinely starting to think I was just crazy until you lot showed up.” He chuckled half-heartedly.

“So, you weren’t…” Cultie paused for a moment. He began to drum his fingers on the back of a chair. “Are you sure you weren’t at Voi- Xisuma’s meeting?” 

Wels shook his head. “No,” he said instantly. “Hels was out for that, always wanting to be at the center of all the drama.” He leaned forward and propped up his head with folded hands. “Something must have happened there.”

A beat. “Yeah, probably,” Cultie responded. He was now rapidly drumming both hands on the back of the couch. “Seems to be one of the, ah, many mysteries you all have going on. Anyway, if you want to let Hels out and get this over w-”

Wels’s stare turned thoughtful. “Yknow,” he interrupted. “You really do sound like my friend Mu-”

“I think you should let Hels out now,” Cultie insisted, louder than the conversation’s volume. He now gripped the couch with both hands. His foot was tapping rapidly. 

As if Cultie’s breath was ice, Wels shivered. The way he demanded Wels to let him out seemed to unsettle the knight, as he perked up, eyes wide. “O-oh, yeah, right,” he said sheepishly. “That’s why we’re down here, not smalltalk. Hang on, gimme a minute.” 

Cultie’s grip relaxed. His nails had indented the back of the oak couch, leaving shallow gashes. If one listened closely, they might’ve heard him sigh. And then, of course, gasp when Wels suddenly slumped over. His feathered plume burst into flames like a phoenix rising from the grave, and it was almost as if the metal of his suit charred, giving it a smoky, grainy, dark finish. When he sat back up, his sapphire eyes now glowed with a fiery red, and his warm smile was now replaced with a scowl. He kicked his feet up onto a table and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So you’re this ‘Cultie’ person, eh?” He even sounded more violent, like he had a sore throat. Who could only be assumed to be Hels looked over Cultie, and he raised an eyebrow. “You look like a wimp.” 

"Rude," Cultie hissed under his breath. Hels clearly heard this and grinned mockingly. "Yes I am, I guess," Cultie quickly continued. "Anyway, I'm here to get you and your friends out of your…how do I say, unfortunate situation?" 

Not a great start.

Hels narrowed his eyes. He stood up, and a scent of burning began dispersing through the room as the flames from his helmet burned brighter. "I don' know who you are referrin' to as my friends, Cultie-" he spat that name out like it was some sort of disease- "-but I don't 'ave any."

"That is precisely the problem," Cultie responded smoothly. "You and the other people of this world are suffering from amnesia. You don't remember anything. I'm here to fix-"

Cultie wasn't able to finish, as Hels cut him off. "Ohhh," he breathed. "You've been listenin' to Wels, the idiot. He's been actin' crazy for months, sayin' all that stuff."

Cultie shuffled where he stood. "Ah, no, I didn't actually get this from him," he corrected. Even though Hels was quite literally radiating heat, Cultie still shivered. "And if you wouldn’t mind, I can show you exactly what I mean. I can fix your memories and give them back."

"Nah."

Huh? Cultie hadn't gotten that response yet. Skepticism? Sure. But never downright refusal. "...no?" Cultie repeated dumbly.

"You heard me," Hels responded. The flames from his helmet crackled and spit tiny embers in all directions. His long, claw-like nails left imprints in his arm as he tightened his stance. "I ain't takin' the bait on that memory voodoo. Not that I don' believe you-" that was a downright lie- "- I just don' care."

Cultie stood there, aghast. He clearly had not even considered this an option and didn't have a plan. "Uh…but you-"

"Nope, still don' care," Hels said. He planted his feet back down with a thump and leaned forward, his eyes glaring into Cultie's own. One could cut the tension in this room with a knife. "You can go tell your sob story to someone else; I'm not your target demographic. I. Don't. Care."

"It'll get Wels to shut up."

"On secon' thought, it couldn't hurt, actually."

Somehow, that managed to work. So, Cultie breathed a sigh of relief and held his hand out. Snap. As per usual, nothing happened. That is, of course, until Cultie found himself pinned up against the wall with a sword at his throat and his hood resting on his shoulders to reveal a familiar face.

"You…" Hels growled. His pupils were slits. The fire in his helmet was nearly a block tall. He was trembling. His voice oozed contempt. "You."

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Cultie’s POV

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Oh no. Oh no. 

In an instant he went from feeling tension, to relief, to complete and utter heart-chilling regret. The force of the blow sent the wind right out of him. As he struggled to regain his breath, Cultie—no, Sage—didn't have time to react to the blade now resting dangerously close to his neck.

player"Welsknight"Hand: Netherite_Sword

Thanks.

Sage held a hand out like one would to calm down a feral animal, and that wasn't too far off what Hels was at that moment. His other hand tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. How could he have been so stupid? From Sage's brief interaction with Hels, of course he would be the kind of person to recognize him. "Hel- ah, Hels, lo-" He was cut off by a painful jab.

"Not…not a word," Hels growled. He was shaking with rage. "I swear, I will not hesita'e to see if you can die like the rest of us." 

It was at this unfortunate moment that they heard a "wooooahhhhhhh!" and a faint thud. A beat. For a moment, the only sounds were the quiet crackling of embers and Sage's labored breathing. Then, gradually, the sound of muttering and calling grew. "Uhh, Cultie? Uh what was- Wels? Hellooooo?" 

Neither of them moved a muscle. 

First a shadow appeared in the doorway, then a foot, then a Scar. "Hey, are you in here? You guys were taking awhi….-" His voice trailed off as his pupils flitted between Hels, who still had his sword at Sage's throat, and Sage, who was still fearing for his life. "Cultie? Your hood is down. And Wels, what in the world are you doing!?"

"You mus' be one of the 'friends' I was hearing all abou'." Hels gave a thin smile as he spoke. He shifted his weight slightly. Sage noticed the sword lower slightly as Hels looked away. He slipped a hand into his inventory. "The name's Hels, by the way. Wels ain't here righ' now." Hels fully turned and held out a clawed—okay, they were technically just nails, but they were sharp enough—hand to shake. 

Bingo.

Sage slipped down and slid away. A flash of gold whipped out of his inventory and he brought it down on Hels. It was all so fast that Sage was barely more than a blur. Clang! Two metals connected midair as Hels spun around with a speed that knocked the guard over his face.

Sage stumbled backward, clutching his chin. His sword clattered to the floor. Echoing laughter erupted from beneath Hels's helmet. "So you do bleed."

Typically, when one is struck by an arrow or a sword, it hurts a bit. Sure, maybe it hurts a lot. But no real damage is ever done. One could rip anv arrow right out of their arm and not even see a mark. It's nigh impossible to sustain any real damage.

That was not the case this time. It was…excruciating. It was like his whole body was splitting apart, like acid was being stabbed into him. Like that part of him just died for good. Sage's head was spinning. He stared at his hand. It was covered in a clear liquid. It looked exactly like the stuff that appeared when he struck the Hermits with his magic sword. And his eye didn't tell him anything about it. 

This wasn't meant to happen. That was the thought exploding in his mind over and over like a fireworks show. He could barely focus on what was going on around him. He just couldn't rip his gaze away from the substance on his hand. 

Sage hadn't gotten seriously hurt since he abandoned Hermitcraft. The sudden awareness of his mortality took over any other fear. 

'So you do bleed.'

Wait a minute. How did Hels recognize what was going on? "Wait- Hels, how do you-" 

"Hang on, hang on, hang on!" Scar came running over and thrust himself between Sage and Hels. "Everyone calm down," he ordered. "Last I heard, Cultie here was just unlocking your memories, and then I come back to check only to find you, Hels, threatening him. What in the worlds did I miss?"

Hels indignantly stepped forward and shoved Scar to the side. Scar stumbled over the couch, and when he popped up he was glaring forcefully at Hels but still walked back over and stood to the right of him. Hels then pointed at Sage. "You got your memories back or whaddever, right? Tell me you don' recognize this man," Hels demanded. Sage's blood ran cold. 

Oh no.

Scar frowned slightly then began to study Sage's face. 

Oh no.

Scar's eyes widened with recognition. 

Oh. No.

"Wait a minute," Scar exclaimed. "I know you! How do I know you?" Sage opened his mouth to say anything, anything. This wasn't supposed to happen. Of all the people to remember him, Scar was one of the last few he'd wish for. Could he try and feign being Mumbo again? That could work.

"O-oh, I'm M-" Scar punched him in the face. For Nether's sake, ouch! Clearly Scar knew him now. 

Sage backed up yet again, this time hitting the wall. His one hand was now clutching his chin (which still hurt like a beast) and his other was held out in front of him defensively. 

"Scar, okay, hear me out," he started. Scar was reasonable, right? "Look, I know some…bad things happened-" Sage wasn't sure what Scar remembered. Hopefully not much beyond his identity. "-and I'm trying to fix everything. I have not lied to you since I met you again." That was technically true. Dancing around the truth and lying were two different things. Scar took a menacing step forward. Sage was drawing at straws here. It was a bit hard to calm down at the moment and think clearly, so he just blurted out, "Bee is right."

That stopped him. "Bee?" 

"Yeah, yeah, she was telling you all about things from Hermitcraft, right?" That got a blank stare. Maybe he didn't remember the name. "Your past life." A nod. Interesting. "And she didn't say anything about me, right?" He shook his head a tentative 'no.' "So, I clearly don't have bad intentions, right? Bee knows me; she would know all the tricks up my sleeve. You two are friends, so wouldn't she tell you?" There's the Sage he knew. The one who could talk his way out of anything.

That is not at all how that works, came a voice broadcasted directly into his head. He pressed a finger behind his ear and turned off his faux-communicator. He'd deal with this on his own.

Sage could still see the anger and mistrust in Scar's eyes, and he knew it was completely earned. "Scar, please hear me out," he requested. "I'm just trying to fix everything." That wasn't a lie in the slightest. 

For an agonizing moment, Scar just stood there, glaring. Sage braced himself for another punch in the face, either from Scar or from Hels (who was still fuming). He dabbed his collar on his chin, which still had a small, steady trickle of the liquid escaping from it. "I made a mistake," Sage continued. His voice was getting shakier again. "I want to remedy it. I'm not asking you to help me; just to not say a word of this to anyone else."

Sigh. Scar pinched together his eyebrows. Another sigh. He looked back up at Sage. "...fffffine. But if you step a toe out of line, I will not hesitate to tell everyone who you are," Scar warned. 

Sage nodded. He was being blackmailed, but at least it was better than having his plans foiled. He glanced expectantly, pleadingly at Hels.

Except, it wasn't Hels. It was Wels. His eyes were once again shining blue and the fire replaced by feathers. He looked so utterly confused. "Sorry, Mu-?" Scar whispered something in his ear, and Sage wrung his hands together nervously. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. A third person? This was bad. "...I see," said Wels. Oh no. "Sorry, Cultie, you just look really similar to one of my friends. Funny, you look and sound just like him. You could be a doppelgänger!"

"Or a clone," Scar added. Wels chuckled, but Sage caught the glare meant just for him. 

"Yeah, exactly, ha! Anyway, I assume your chat with Hels went well?" Wels blinked at Sage expectantly. After a moment, he opened his mouth to answer, but Wels just spoke over him anyway. "Well, you're not dead, so that’s definitely a good sign."

Sage nonchalantly covered his cut chin.

"It's getting late; we should probably go back up," Scar cut in. "I came down here entirely because we were getting worried about you two taking so long." As he said that, he disappeared around the corner. "It's this way, right?" 

Wels jumped. "Oh, yeah! I forgot!" He admitted sheepishly. He began to scramble after him, but froze. "Huh, actually…" Wels turned back around, his face a mixture of bemusement and embarrassment. "Do you mind waiting a minute, Cultie? Hels actually wants to say something real quick." Sage didn't have a chance to say 'no' before Wels fully collapsed onto the floor (didn't that hurt?) and stood up once again as Hels. 

"You're lucky, ya weird-eyed freak, tha' I only hit yer chin," he hissed. Sage couldn't tell which had more fire, the literal flames of his helmet or his terrifying eyes. "Now tha' I know y'er mortal, you're gonna have to be a lo' more careful. Say one wrong thing, and the tip o' this sword is going straight into yer heart, if you even have one." Even though they were half a room apart from each other, Sage could feel the hatred like a wave of heat from Hels.

"Oh, and I'm so glad that you're pure of moral fault," Sage snapped back. 

"I haven' permanen'ly killed anyone yet; can you say the same 'bout yerself?"

Sage froze. "How did you-"

"Lucky guess." And Hels turned heel and left. And Sage was alone.

As he was pulling his hood back over his head, he turned his communicator back on. "Bee, meet me at spawn," he muttered. He took a convenient bubble elevator back up to the surface and exited the van to see absolutely no one. It was the dead of night; everyone must have gone to bed by now. Now, if he could make his way back to spawn himself, that would be great. 

After several minutes of wandering around in the forest, Sage was fully lost in his thoughts. Great, it hadn't even been a week yet and his cover was already blown with two people. He never got to ask Hels how he knew what happened to Sage either. And how much did Scar really know? Sage had managed to take advantage of his shocked state and convince him to hear him out, but if this were to happen again or if Scar should decide not to trust Sage after all… then he was in for a bad time. 

He was not just lost in his thoughts; he also had no idea where he was in these woods. Every snap of a twig, every tree he walked behind he expected to see some sort of mob or person waiting to attack him while he was vulnerable, but they never did. In fact, he didn't see a single hostile mob at all. That is until he saw a figure behind a tree. Huh? 

It wasn't facing him. Sage drew his sword slowly and held it in front of him. He inched closer, keeping his body as far away as possible. As he took another step forward, though, the moon shone through the leaves at just an angle that its light bounced off the sword, casting a golden glow. The figure turned around. Sage held up his sword to attack, but he barely even caught a glimpse of its face before it turned back and ran off deeper into the forest. … Sage lowered his sword. 

That face didn't look very monstrous. 

It only took a few more minutes before he reached a small, familiar clearing. On a rock hopped anxiously back and forth a small bird, who glanced up at the sound of Sage's footsteps. She instantly started chattering. "Oh! Finally! What took you so long? I was worried that you had gotten hurt or died or-"

"I got lost," Sage cut in, crouching down to her level. "It's been a long night, cut me some slack." He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but you could've warned me at literally any time," Bee insisted. He could've. "Anyway, what happened? Why did you turn off your communicator? I was worried sick."

Sage raised an eyebrow, not that she could see. "You're always worried sick," he stated. He ignored her retort and continued. "I unlocked Hels's memory and he recognized me, and then Scar came down to check and without my hood on, he recognized me too. Hels attacked me... and…" He removed his hood and showed his wound, which had finally stopped bleeding. "Turns out, not having a communicator is really bad."

"Huh?! Oh that's not good at all," Bee frantically chittered. Her feathers fluffed nervously, and she hopped closer to see the damage. "Sage, you can get hurt?"

Sage pulled the hood back over his head. He couldn't afford for anyone to see him. "Yeah, seems so," he murmured. "Seems so."

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No one's POV

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The next morning, the inhabitants of the world stood in a clump around the unlit campfire. The one they called Cultie strolled up to them from deep within the forest, looking confused. "What is all this commotion?" He asked, drawing the attention.

"Didn't you see?" Wels responded, pointing to his communicator.

"Grian's gone," Zedaph cut in. "He left."

Cultie scampered forward, peeking over Wels's shoulder at his communicator. "On his own?!"

"Yup. We didn't know that was possible," Doc added. "I thought you were the only world-hopper we knew."

Maybe, if anyone listened closely, they would've heard a quiet comment from Cultie saying, "I thought that, too." And maybe, if they were really paying attention, they would've heard a small, nervous chirp.

-(Author's Rambling)-

Woah, lots and lots of fun stuff! Here's your monthly goodie-bag. I will try and make them faster, but you all know by now that it is nigh impossible for me to keep a schedule. I hope you all enjoy nontheless! 

And can we get a big hand, because here on Wattpad, it is currently sitting at #1 in mumbojumbo and #71 in hermitcraft! Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. 

Anyway, I'm excited to see where this takes us next! Thanks as always for coming, and I'll see you in the next one, my little Readers!

Promise out!