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It’s all my fault. Those were the thoughts racing through Grian’s head as he slid down the hall, hand catching on the corner of one of the walls. He could feel Scar’s blood rushing in his head, could feel Scar’s lungs straining against his own. Scar must have been running— they seemed to be doing a lot of that— but Grian just wanted to hold his breath so he wouldn’t be heard. Maybe if he did and Scar tried to hyperventilate, their lungs would pop and it would be over. No. I can’t.
The chill of the cavern was more apparent with each passing second, yet sweat dripped down Grian’s spine as he rounded another corner, the heartbeat that pounded in his ears louder than his quick footsteps. He couldn’t run; it would hear him. Pain spiked through his chest as he pushed his way through the half flooded corridors, scrambling up the piles of sand he had left in his wake. His feet sunk and skidded, water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, but he was almost there. Just a few more turns, and he would be out.
He wasn’t sure if it was Scar’s anxiety lancing through him or his own, but it didn’t matter. They were almost done, almost free. As he took another step, Grian blinked, a burning filling his veins as the corridor before him disappeared, black filling the world that should have been before him. No, not now, not so close. He couldn’t breathe, flames seemed to fill his lungs, seemed to take over every part of his body, but he stepped forward anyway. No popping, not today.
The world was flickering before him, dark and then there in the next moment. Agony engulfed him as he made a final turn, eyes widening as he caught sight of the ladder for the briefest moment, the hope that speared through him more painful as it amplified. Scar must feel it too. Each step up the steep path was met with burning agony, but Grian started to run, not caring if it heard him now. Maybe he should have.
Everything seemed to slow as he lunged for the ladder, arm outstretched to grab hold of his lifeline. Somewhere across the world, Scar felt time slow down as he clutched at his head. In a moment of what felt like, for the first time during the games, a moment of pure clarity and union, two hearts beat in sync. A sound ricocheted around Grian, and his eyes went wide as every part of his body split in two, lungs popping in his chest with a sickening sound that felt like drowning. As he began to fall, his fingertips brushed the wood of the ladder, and as the world fell away with a sickening scream, Grian could see across the sky and through the stone, a red thread severing and blood streaked across snow.
Grian was obliterated by a sonically-charged shriek.
GoodTimesWithScar died.
This wasn’t the first time Grian had died, but since the start of the games, that third death was always different. The peace that accompanied death was a welcome change from the pain that tore through them, but the speed that came with the return to his home server usually meant he didn’t feel it for long. It was usually just a flash of regret, a flash of acceptance, and a moment of anticipation. All of these did bubble up inside of his chest, in a way that was warm and calm, but the feelings weren’t fading the way they usually did when the void would deposit him home.
These feelings lingered, growing heavier in his ribs with each passing moment. The respawns usually took longer after a game ended, but this was different. The void was starting to weigh on him in a way that felt mistaken, pressing and pulling in all of the wrong places. When it was getting to the point where panic was starting to set in, he felt himself knit back together and he could breathe again. But when Grian finally had the sense of mind and body to open his eyes, his blood went cold.
He was in a world, on a server, that much was evident, a different one than the soulmate games for sure. But it was not his server. There were no familiar builds dotting the skyline, no nametags in the distance, not a sound sitting on the server but his panting. Why am I out of breath?
Injuries didn’t carry over across servers, especially not after the games. Grian swallowed, a traitorous though creeping into his mind. What if the soulmate tactic wasn’t just the games? It was a thought that put bile on the back of his throat, but something glimmering dep in his stomach. He shoved away the thought, stamping on the spark as he dug his fingers into his arms. No. I don’t feel him like that, he realized, noting the one heartbeat in his chest. Not any more. Good. The briefest moment of relief washed over him. He deserves better than me.
Grian reached out, a shakiness in his bones pushing him forward, waiting for the server to pull up the logs, or maybe the chat— even the player list!— but nothing materialized. A knot was beginning to form in his throat, panic forming a bubbling home in his stomach as he reached out again, and again, each attempt more frantic. Each attempt in vain. He knew he was not the admin of this server, that he could feel in his veins, but being locked out of the chat and logs as well? Something was not right about this world, and he needed to figure it out soon, before the residents on this server found him. Not all servers are welcoming to intruders.
He had heard of players getting lost in the void, getting dropped into random servers when their tether was severed or there was an error in the life stream. Some would eventually be retrieved, telling stories of fanciful civilizations, or elaborate world rules. Some would be found, floating in the void after the residents of the server reacted far too violently for the voids violence tolerance. The rare few never made it back. There wer rumors of the hardcore servers you couldn’t respawn from. The kind that would end your play permanently. Some servers, you just couldn’t escape. Grian really didn’t want to think about the last time that had happened, but they had redefined all of the barriers, strengthened all of the firewalls. It shouldn’t be able to happen again. That, he had to believe.
Maybe this is another of their games, he thought, letting his hand drop as he released the idea of the logs. It wouldn’t surprise him if they decided the game wasn’t over just yet, but they had always allowed him some level of control before. This felt distinctly different, like a different set of eyes were on him, caging him in.
He sucked in a breath, air ragged and sharp, inflating his lungs that still held the memory of popping. He breathed out, holding so little air that his blood started to burn in that familiar way. Scar had liked to do that when Grian had ignored the Jellie pandas too long. But he’s not here. Grian started to walk. There were brief pauses to mine at trees, create a first crafting bench, make wooden tools he hoped to soon discard. But then he would resume, the quiet too much to bear and the path ahead holding little but anxiety and difficulty.
Though Grian much preferred using Elytra or simply flying around his server to walking, this world’s settings didn’t leave him much of an option. He had to assume it was survival, with the way his calves burned as he made his way up a hill and around overgrown trees, but the real question was how many lives he would get. He could, of course, just jump from a great height to try and get back to his server that way, but he knew what they were like, and that it wouldn’t be that easy. Not if I really am lost. Maybe it was regular survival, and he would just end up in the same place over and over again every time he made a mistake, but a sinking feeling in his chest told him that it would be much, much worse.
The trees around him were tall, dark oak trunks stretching towards the painfully saturated sky, thick swathes of leaves nearly blocking out the light in a familiar way. Woodland biome. The thought filtered through his mind as reflexively as he jumped up the hill, catching himself before he slipped on a cliffs edge. His lungs were burning by the time he had descended what he now knew was a mountain, not a hill, and the towering trees around him barely kept the heat from his quickly dampening skin. Yet again, he cursed himself for thinking wool was the perfect choice of outfit for a death game, wishing he had chosen anything else.
The first sign that something was wrong— not wrong in the way that his very presence was wrong, wrong in the way that the pain that laced through his muscles was wrong, wrong that his chest still ached like they had been ripped, wrong in the way he couldn’t do anything— was the black smoke that rose into the sky in the distance. Something was burning, something that smelled acrid, something more than a nearby lava pool or a flaming zombie. No. Something was burning down.
The farther he walked down the mountain, the closer he got to the smell of ash, the more the heat pressed into his skin, soaked him in sweat, draped him in the smoke of something big and painful. It was something too familiar, in taste, in smell, in feel, and yet, he knew this was something different. Only when he saw the mansion’s smoldering bridge peeking from behind the trees did he stop, breath catching on the ash filled air.
A woodland mansion stood stretched out beneath him, but it was fundamentally different— ignoring the flames— from the mansions he knew so well. The wood was lighter than the dark oak should have been, the grain too smooth, the surfaces too shiny, the stone too straight cut. But the bridge, as beautiful and wrong as it might have started, was covered in dwindling flames and spreading sparks. The middle of the platform was gone, debris scattered around the base of the bridge in a way that made him uneasy, the unnatural shape sending hairs standing along his spine. The stone balcony, the one that rung the too-pale roof, was only blocks away from Grian was standing, and it was much too tempting to resist.
The jump, normally, wouldn’t have dealt even half a heart, yet when Grian landed, his ankle made a sound he was not used to hearing and he crumpled with a yelp of surprise. What? Breathing ragged, palms bleeding and pressed to the wood grain, pain shooting up his leg in a localized way that he shouldn’t have felt. He sucked in deep breaths, counting down the seconds it would take to fade like it usually did, slower than if he had eaten, but regular none the less.
Yet, as seconds passed, turning to minutes, the pain did not abate, did not ease and disappear. No bone slid back into place, the poor angle of his foot did not fix itself. Instead, Grian had to drag himself up with the support of an oddly thick fence post, wood digging into his palm as pain shot through his foot again.
This is going to be an issue. It took much too long for him to drag himself to the edge of the roof, the height from here to the bottom of the ditch suddenly nauseating. If he had a water bucket, he might have felt more secure, but he had yet to make even stone tools. How am I this behind? The thought was a bitter one. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to compete with at the moment. He didn’t even know if any of his friends were on this server, or if he was the only one trapped. Bile flickered across his tongue as a memory flitted to the surface, and with it, a fear.
Scar. Grian’s heart pounded in his chest, making the ankle seem like a dull beating in comparison to its fervor. I hope he wasn’t dragged here too. Guilt flavored his mouth and swirled around his head. If he really was lost, stranded in a foreign server, he did not want to drag anyone there with him. I’ve already made him suffer enough.
As hard as they were to push away, the thoughts had to be pushed to the side so that he could deal with the current situation.
“Deal with it, get out of it, then check on Scar.” He chided himself, shaking his head violently. “And then-”
The word ‘apologize’ died on his tongue. No. Later. Think about it later.
First, he made sure to mine some of the oddly textured stone and upgrade his already degrading wooden tools for stone ones, though they weren’t much of an improvement.
Second, he needed to build himself a way down. Usually, he would just mine himself down block by block, but with the proof of what a small jump could do to him, he didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t know what mods this server had, but whatever they were, he wanted to be free of them and their slowed healing as soon as possible.
Grian finally settled on building out a gradual descending stair, making its way around the outside of the mansion and to one of the windows. It wasn’t the nicest thing he had ever built, but it was functional and didn’t make him want to rip his foot off with each step, so he couldn’t really complain. The glass broke easily, sending shards raining down onto the carpeted hall of the mansion, though even this was different than what he was used to. The one familiar thing was the sense of anxiety that clung to his spine, and he was suddenly too aware of how underprepared he was. No armor, no shield, no weapon but a stone sword. If this world really is hardcore- He tried not to think about it.
He was slow in his movement through the mansion’s wide halls, though pain and curiosity contributed more and more than the apprehension with each passing second. The halls were distinctly different than he knew, with intricate patterns much too small for his server covering walls and bricks of indistinguishable material. In some places, colors were just off, but in others, whole swathes of the floor were changed, made more complex, more ornate. Grian had never really thought of Vindicators as having good taste, but he might have to change his mind if the rest of the mansion proved as pretty.
Each turn led him into another hall or room, each oddly decorated, yet each utterly empty. The silence that hung in the air was painful, the air almost too still. Grian’s brows furrowed as he glanced down a set of stairs he wasn’t brave enough to try yet, noting the dark, and the odd lack of mobs. Does nothing spawn in this server? Is it a generation bug? Whatever the reason, he soon realized that nothing was hiding behind a door to attack him or send him back to his respawn point, so he began to check things more thoroughly.
There should be a chest room, right? The doors opened much more slowly than he was used to, and yet they revealed very little, so each creak of wood was met with disappointment and mounting frustration. Finally, when the pain in his ankle was becoming more dull— not anywhere close to fixed, just something he was growing used to— did he swing open a door, stone sword hanging nearly limply at his side. He had been expecting another library, or another woolen statue, but what he found was much more promising.
The room full of chests, Grian found, was not exempt from the odd detailing and textural changes that this server seemed to dwell in, spacious and yet the room seemed to do things it shouldn’t have. Chests stacked directly on top of the other, the iron darker than it should have been, more rusted, the wood smoother and more geometric. At this point, though, with pain in his leg and the silence weighing on him, he no longer was bothered by the eccentricities of the mods. He pushed into the room, reaching towards the first chest as the door swung shut behind him, stone sword practically forgotten in his hand.
The first chest held gold bars: nice, but not particularly useful when you didn't even have a bed. The second had cooked pork chops, which he pocketed several of after eating until the ache in his ankle almost numbed. Better than nothing. He was just about to lift the lid of the third when something sent the hairs on the back of his neck raising, a soft sound that triggered every fight or flight instinct he had. It was not the hiss of a creeper about to ruin his game, or the soft sound of a spider crawling up behind him; no. It was a sound like a distorted scream, a whine that stretched far longer than it should.
He turned, slowly, thought every part of him screamed to look away, to back away, to ignore it. But that sound meant too much, too late. Grian looked up, the Enderman coming into full view as he took in the whole room. It was much like the ones from his server— how different could they really be— but this one was taller, sharper, the gaping mouth stretching open farther and farther than he had ever seen. It was horrifying and captivating and it felt as if his skin was revolting against him.
It’s shriek was too familiar, a piercing sound that belonged to another, much more sinister creature, and suddenly Grian was on his knees, lungs burning as his stone sword clattered to the wooden floor. Violet eyes burned into his own, and he couldn’t breathe, gasping, but nothing relieving him. Blood dripped down the sides of his face as a ringing split his skull, forcing his bruised and bloodied hands to his temples, clutching at his head as if to keep it in one piece.
And then the sounds were gone, the blood a mirage on shaking fingers. He looked up again and his heart dropped as the Enderman’s jaw unhinged and it began to transform. The room seemed to coil around the changing creature, melting into swirling squares as someone else came to stand in front of Grian, tilting its head— no, his head— to the side. It smiled with a face that didn’t belong to it and spoke with a voice that dug a blade into Grian’s chest.
“Hey, do you wanna take over the sand biome and then make people pay to come to get sand?”
The way it mimicked Scar’s voice was perfect, and the way it looked at Grian fit the same description. It was him, it was Scar from the first time they had played the games, the phrase that had started everything. The proposal that had changed everything. That ruined us both.
Scar’s face fell, eyes flickering from their brilliant three-life green to a brief violet.
“I don’t know if you can really say that I ruined us both.” The smile was back, but his laugh, his electric giggle was being twisted towards Grian in a way that chilled his blood. “You get that credit, mister.”
Grian swallowed, throat dry. It’s not him. Not really. But, fuck, it looked like him, it sounded like him. It might as well have been him.
“Remember what you did to me?” The Scar before him asked, still smiling. “It’s your fault that this happened. All of it. You took everything from me.”
“Scar,” Grian’s voice was strained as it came out, and he tried to drag himself back into a standing position, but his ankle flared up, leaving him crumpled against the side of one of the shelves. “We were partners, we were working together, I-”
“Against your will, of course.” He cut in, voice uncharacteristically sharp. “That’s what you told everyone.” Scar laughed, but his voice slowly transformed into one that was familiar, painfully so. “‘Skizz, I have to listen to him.’” Scar said with Griran’s voice. “‘Etho don’t listen to him, I have to be on his side.’ ‘Remember, Scar, as soon as I lose this life, I’m gone.’”
The Scar with the purple glow crossed his arms, tilting his head as he looked down at Grian.
“Why were you forced to be my partner, like you told all our friends? Why did you owe me your life?”
Grian swallowed, something cold blossoming in his chest. “Because-.”
The words died on his tongue in Scar’s nostrils flared, purple flickering over his skin.
“Admit it. You killed me.”
Scar’s eyes went wide as they flickered from green to yellow, the mansion shaking under their feet as what sounded like an explosion racked the mansion. Grian couldn’t tell if it was real, but the sound, the aftershock of the shifting chests and creaking wood sent him back to those first games. Of a joke went wrong, of blood and gore splattered across ground and reaching the back of Grian’s throat. Scar stumbled forward, and as he nearly bent over, Grian could see a thick line cutting across his back, blood seeping through his shirt as it scarred over as quickly as it bled. And then he was back up, standing and staring at Grian.
Grian opened his mouth, almost reflexively, pushing himself a little higher up the shelf. “But, Scar-”
“‘It was just a prank.’” Grian’s own voice parroted back to him, warbled as it came from Scar’s lips, disdain in his usually kind eyes. “I remember.”
“I said I was sorry,” were the only words he could muster, yet the cold in his chest grew and the dryness in his mouth could not be quenched by swallowing. It sounded just as weak out loud as when he had thought it.
“But that’s not all, Grian. You let me die, you stole my lives from me, you stole everything from me.” Scar was shaking, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You’re why I went red!”
A shuddering breath escaped Grian’s lips as he shook his head, the memory of a song and a fall dancing before him.
“Scar, please, that’s not fair,” he pleaded. “You were running ahead, and-”
“And you always have an excuse. Was it my fault the traps went off wrong? I didn’t ask everyone to hunt us down! You blamed me for it anyone, just tried to make yourself a victim to the people trying to kill you..” Scar’s brows furrowed as his smile dropped like shattered glass.
“That’s not true!” Grian choked, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. “You were my friend, I hated seeing you die.”
Scar stared at him for a long moment, before smiling, and for a brief moment, everything was right with the world again.
“You’re right, Grian. We were friends. We were business partners. We were science bros, we were-”
His voice cut off, as if fading off abruptly, and he held Grian’s gaze, as if accusing him as his yellow eyes flickered to red. Blood began to seep from his pants as Scar cried out, hitting the ground hard. Grian froze, another memory making itself present in front of him. A very small, very broken Scar, lying too far for Grian to reach. When this other-Scar stood back up, his skin was greyed, eyes a familiar scarlet. His voice was small when he spoke.
“‘I didn’t mind the gap.’” The mimicked humor was too absurd, and yet it fell away as Scar held something out to Grian, something with colorful petals of purple and red. Scar tilted his head to Grian, hope seeping into his voice. “‘Can we still be friends?’ What did you say, Grian?”
Grian reached out his hand to take the flowers, the colors that had become so closely woven into their relationship. “I said yes.”
“No,” Scar cut in, and as Grian’s fingers closed around the stems, the lilacs and poppies turned to ash, staining his palm grey. “You said ‘Well, yeah, technically.’ Technically. Everything was always a technicality with you.”
“That’s not fair,” Grian finally said, swallowing as he pressed his palms to his temples, where his blood was pounding like a wardens footsteps. Eyes on his skin, under his clothes, against his hair. They’re watching again. “We didn’t know the rules, and I still owed you a life debt!”
“And as soon as you didn’t, you were gone, right? But you stuck around out of pity and blamed me for not setting off the trap right!.”
“I never blamed you!” He cried, feeling as though his throat was closing with every word he said. “We were allies the whole game, Scar, and when all of our allies died, and it was just us, I stuck around then too!”
“You did,” Scar admitted, nodding as if this was something he had considered. “And I was so glad. The only thing I wanted, the whole game, was for you to live. For us to be friends.”
Grian swallowed, watching the emotions flickering across Scar’s face as he combed through all of their time together. Finally, Scar looked back at him, eyes glowing violet.
“I killed for you. I betrayed for you. And you still thought I would betray you. I thought you trusted me,” he said softly, shaking his head as hurt laced his voice. Pain contorted his beautiful features, twisting them into something that made something sharp blossom in Grian’s throat. “I offered my life to you, again and again. You almost actually killed me, but you stopped at the last second. Why? Was it pity? Were you looking down on me again?”
Grian’s voice came out strangled, remembering exactly how he’d felt in that pond. Apologies withered on his tongue, excuses only remaining.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Scar scoffed.
“That didn’t stop you in the cactus ring.”
Grian’s blood ran cold, though he had known this was coming. I killed him. It’s my fault. All of it. And yet, even though every thought he had affirmed what Scar was saying, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He swallowed.
“Scar, that was different. We didn’t have a choice.”
Scar laughed, a mangled, inhuman thing.
“You always had a choice, you just never chose me.”
“I always chose you!” Grian cried, but something that lurked in the back of his mind hissed that it wasn’t true. Was that ever true?
“No, Grian, you always chose yourself,” he spat, shaking his head. “But maybe that’s what I deserved, because I always chose you too.” He looked Grian in the eye, red with purple ringing his face. “And you killed me for it.”
Grian swallowed, remembering the feeling of flesh under fist, of Scar’s smile as blood stained sand and cries of pain were matched with uncomfortable laughs and silently falling tears.
“The ghosts demanded blood, I know,” Scar continued. “And it was just us at the end. Just us, as it always was, and it could have been so good! But you knew that wasn’t how the game was supposed to end. There’s only one winner. I knew you were selfish, but you decided to throw my mercy in my face and beat me to death anyway!”
Grian shook his head, the weight of blood on his knuckles making his skin crawl, the ghost of crunching ribs and split skin.
“No, Scar-”
“You killed me! Every one of my deaths was your fault! All of it!” With each of his words, a bruise appeared on his face, his neck, his arm. His eyebrow split, blood trickled from his nose, scarlet smeared on his teeth. “You’re a murderer! You took every chance you had to make me feel small, and weak, and you murdered me because you wanted to win! You beat me to death because of their stupid game, and you won while I died!”
“Scar, you let me!” He finally burst out, unable to twist his face from anything but a desperate grimace. Grian could feel fingers on his arms, old bruises on his chest. “You’re stronger than me, you’ve always been stronger than me, you could have killed whenever you wanted! But you weren’t hitting me as hard as you could’ve, and you kept running into the cactuses. You ran away, but you let me get those last hits in. You let me kill you, you let me win!”
Scar’s face crumpled, purple flashing across his eyes as he crossed rapidly towards Grian, growing bigger and harsher with each step.
“I let you? I let you?! I ran! I was scared, I was in pain, I didn’t want to die, Grian!” His outrage at the accusation seemed to melt as he stared at Grian, leaving only hardened resolve. “Of course I let you. But even if I hadn’t-”
“I would have died for you!”
“Well, I did!” He spat back. “Because I loved you!”
Grian froze, staring at the Scar that flickered purple, the room twisting like a coil behind him. This Scar just shook his head.
“And look where it got me. You won and I died. And you didn’t care.”
Grian laughed, short and painfully.
“I killed myself after you died.”
The Scar that wasn’t Scar tilted its head to look at Grian, and then said something Scar never would.
“Maybe that’s what you deserved.”
The icy pit in his stomach grew and he suddenly felt cold, as if someone was pouring ice water down his back.
“I’m sorry, Scar.”
“But that’s not all you took from me, is it?” Grian looked up and Scar was back to green eyes, but wearing his purple cap and coat. “We played another game, didn’t we.”
Grian shook his head.
“Scar, I-”
“I thought we could be friends again. That we could move past everything, that I could forgive you for what you did. But you didn’t want to hear it. You were done tolerating me.”
“That’s not-”
“What happened to us being partners?” Scar asked, tilting his head, hurt coating his features.
“It was different game.” Grian mustered, but his stomach churned, the answer weak.
Scar much have thought so too, because he just laugh, coldly.
“Right, of course. It was different. You weren’t stuck with me anymore. The rules were different too, so you wouldn’t have to stick around if we went red either. You hated it that much, huh.”
“Scar, that’s not what happened!” His breath was ice in his lungs, his own nails digging into his arms as Scar paced in front of him, back and forth, more and more agitated. “I don’t have control over the rules, you know that! I didn’t want them to think I was ruining their game, teaming with you again.”
“You abandoned me! You refused to even consider being my teammate, and I was alone, the whole game. You stole a life from me, you left me, and then you left me to die. And the worst part?” Scar’s eyes flickered for a moment, from green, to yellow, to red, and then to violet. “You didn’t even care.”
“That’s not true,” Grian said, as if gasping for air with each word. He could taste blood as shudders wracked his body. “I did care. I always cared.”
“Really? Funny way of showing it.”
There was nothing for Grian to say to that, no excuse that could make anything feel any better. He shuddered, the cold of the room seeping into him as darker thoughts started to slip past his filters. He’s right, y’know. You can’t have cared about him. You’re too selfish to care about anyone like that.
“I mean, you even cursed the game masters when you realized you were paired with me. Remember? You knew we were together again, that you had to be with me, and you started screaming about how awful it would be.”
He swallowed, remembering his initial frustration, if he could even call it that. It had really been dread, the lingering guilt. I’m going to get him killed again. He’s got no chance of winning with me around. It was why he had decided to form a secret alliance with BigB; maybe, if he wasn’t around as much, he wouldn’t get Scar hurt.
“You left me again,” Scar continued, as if hearing Grian’s thoughts. “You went behind my back to become someone else’s soulmate, that’s how desperate you were to get away from me. And I didn’t burden you with any extra deaths, or extra pain, but you still acted like I was useless.”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“From who?” Scar asked, tilting his head in a way that was almost menacing. “Myself? That’s the only thing I needed to be protected from, right?”
There was no answering that question without proving Scar was right, so Grian just fell silent once more.
“And you made those choices without thinking about me, at all. You hated the jellies, you hated being with me, you hated everything about the game that forced us together. And then they started to hunt us down. Because of you. And you still got me killed, but at least you got to feel what I felt, for the first time.”
Scar stood before him with green eyes, and then his eyes went wide, frantic as fingernail marks dragged across his bare arms, leaving trails of blood and teeth marks. Grian watched eyes wide, the phantom feeling of nails and hands and fangs sinking into his skin in that way he remembered. In seconds, Scar was covered in the marks, and they got deeper and deeper, as he swung at invisible hands. Then, when his sounds cut off, the marks faded to pink scars and his eyes faded into yellow, the memory of being ripped apart too recent for Grian not to flinch.
“I’m sorry.”
Scar’s eyebrows quirked up, as if this was not something he was expecting to hear.
“I’m sorry,” Grian repeated, voice coming out in bursts of pain that ran through his lungs, lungs that remembered. “I should have done more.”
Scar tilted his head. “Yes,” he finally said. “You should have.”
Grian watched and felt as another explosion ripped into the mansion, the whole room rattling like an Enderman in water, and a line tore into Scar’s neck, trailing from his ear down his shoulder, nearly throwing him to the ground. The pain was sharp across Grian’s neck as he stumbled, remembering the fall, the explosion. When the scar healed over and the pain faded, Scar looked up with an open black shirt and red eyes.
“And then it was up to you, wasn’t it? Your great plan?” Scar jeered. “To lure the warden up, to kill them all for us. We wanted revenge, of course. But you messed up and got us both killed.”
Scar froze, clutching at his skull, as blood dripped from his ears and he fell to his knees, eyes wide. His eyes faded from red to violet and as he looked back up at Scar, Grian felt as if his lungs were going to pop again.
“You’re the reason I died again and again, why I lost everything over and over. Everything you touch, you break. Everyone you meet, you poison. I loved you. I followed you. I died for you. But you’re the one who deserved to die. Not me.”
Grian couldn’t breathe, hands clutching at his chest, at his head, trying to pull the heavy fabric from his skin, from his lungs- why are his lungs full of wool? Something was pulling at his mind, tearing at his hair, ripping into his flesh in a way that forced him to his knees.
“I’m sorry, Scar. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Scar just stared at him, expression blank, each scar on his body glistening and screaming responsibility to Grian.
“I’m sorry, what else is there to say? Do you want me to say that I wish you hadn’t been forced to be with me because all I do is hurt you? That you deserved better than me? Because you do! I am sorry! I am sorry that I killed you in the first game, and I’m sorry I let you die, and I’m sorry that I abandoned you! I was so busy trying to keep you safe from me, that I left you completely alone, and I didn’t even say anything when you died! I’m sorry that I’m such a curse, because every time I’m around you, you die! Fuck, the first time we ever met, you drowned, and I didn’t do anything!”
Grian had slid down the side of the bookshelf now, hands knit into his hair and pulling and pulling. He couldn’t see anything but the swirling wooden floor, but he knew Scar was getting closer.
“I’m sorry that I acted like I was stuck with you, I’m sorry that I didn’t do more to protect you, I’m sorry that I was so selfish.”His voice hitched. “I’m sorry, Scar, that I didn’t care about the Jellie pandas, and I’m sorry that I have been the reason you have lost every game. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tears were slipping down his face, hot against his skin as an icy center spread within him, sending waves of guilt and disgust washing over him. His fingers were ripping into his cheek, his scalp, something hot ran down the side of his face. The last game was still imprinted into him, so it was hard not to scream out when it felt as if the zombies had them again.
“Please, Scar, you have to forgive me. Please. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve anything that I’ve done to you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t speak, breath catching in his throat and staying there, frozen, as he sunk farther onto the floor elbows pressed against the wooden floor. A shadow stretched out above him, familiar sound filling the room, but he could barely hear it over the replaying screams in his head, his own heartbeat a brass drum against his skull. Maybe its better if it kills me, the darker thoughts whispered. It’s what I deserve. It loomed above him, jaw unhinging, screams growing louder and louder.
And then there was movement from behind him and something flashed a brilliant blue and the sounds fell away. A grunt met every slash, and then a scream that faded away set the room back to how it was, without the swirling of reality behind it. Grian continued staring at the floor where the Enderman had been standing, digging his nails into his temples as tears slid down his face. A familiar set of shoes came into view and Grian froze as a familiar figure bent down in front of him, concern coating his usually smiling face.
“Wait, Grian, what happened?”
It was him, it was really him. It was his voice, his real voice, no distortions, no manipulations. It was really Scar standing in front of him, his brown eyes peering into his face and into his soul with nothing but worry. This made Grian cry even harder.
“I’m sorry,” He blurted out shaking his head at Scar. “I am so sorry.”
Scar’s eyes— brown eyes, brown, brown, brown, brown— widened as he gently pulled Grian’s hands from his hair, looking between the blood on his fingernails to the tears streaming down his face.
“For what?”
Grian blinked, almost gaping.
“For everything. For ruining everything. I killed you! It’s all my fault.”
Scar shook his head, smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he dropped his voice lower.
“It was an accident. It’s fine. We’ll get ‘em next time, y’know?” His smile dropped a fraction when more hot tears slipped down Grian’s cheeks. “Hey, please don’t cry. Everything’s fine. Hot Guy is here to get you to safety, mister. Let’s go!”
Slowly, Grian nodded, letting Scar pull him to his feet, ankle still sitting in the wrong place as he did. Scar threw one of Grian’s arms over his shoulder, helping him stand as they made their way from the room with the chest. He looked over at Scar, the man who was helping him walk, who had helped dry his tears, who wasn’t blaming him for anything, and he swallowed.
“How did you find me?”
Scar shrugged. “D’know. After the game ended, it was taking a while to get back to the server, so I was just waiting. But then I thought I heard you.”
“You heard me?”
“Yeah. You were shouting my name. I opened my eyes and I was here. And I kept hearing your voice.”
“You followed my voice.” Grian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why?”
Scar screwed his face up in what he could only describe as thoughtfulness, though his goofy smile stayed the same. Then he shrugged.
“I thought you needed me.”
Grian swallowed, nodding as they made their way down the carpeted hallway, and down the stairs he had yet to explore. They knew nothing about where they were, noting about getting back, and they couldn’t even figure out how they had gotten there. But Scar had thought Grian needed him and had come to help. And maybe he was right. And maybe, for right now, knowing that was enough.