The Distance Between Us

by KoraSonata

Summary:

The Hermits were given a task. Each person would start at a different spot on the map, and each person could navigate the terrain or build as they wished. There was only one goal: find the others. The rules were simple. Number 1: the Hermits could not communicate through text or chat of any form, but other use of their communicators was fair game. Number 2: Night could only be skipped if all other players were also in bed, but sleeping for the duration of the long night would also eliminate phantoms. And Number 3: they would start from square one. No tools. No armour. No blocks of any kind. But there was just one more little catch to their scenario. Each person would start in the location that was personally the most inconvenient for them.

OR

SCATTERED AU??!?

Notes:

This is basically my version of the Scattered AU but without the tears. Also people start in completely different spots but like yeah. Read the original prompts at the links below!
Part 1: https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/638327802787250176/this-is-a-collection-of-all-material-associated
Part 2: https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/638853979496923136/scattered-au-masterpost-part-2-complete

Chapter 1: BdoubleO100

Air. He needed air. Bdubs knows he must have spawned under water, because the first thing he notices about his environment is that he can’t breathe.

This wasn’t necessarily the end of the world. He knew he had approximately 15 seconds to hold his breath before he would start to suffocate, and people spawned underwater all the time. All he had to do was get to the surface before his time ran out.

He kicks his legs out beneath him, feeling the rush of cold water churn around his body as he attempts to propel himself to the surface.

Only, he doesn’t get that far.

He had only gone up a few feet before his head hits something hard above him, and he looks up to see the green prismarine roof above his head. He takes a second to collect himself, doing his best to ignore the burning in his lungs, before surveying his surroundings.

He was most definitely in an Ocean Monument, if the walls of prismarine were any sort of indicator. This wasn’t particularly the best of news he could have received at that moment. Ocean Monuments were large formations that, as the name suggested, spawned at the bottom of the Ocean. And while they were normally considered a pretty rare and highly sought after construction, at this particular moment, he was rapidly running out of breath. And based off of the shape of the room that he currently occupied, Bdubs assumed that he must have started in the topmost room of the structure.

Which meant that in order to reach the surface, he was going to have to navigate the entire monument.

Bdubs clasps a hand over his mouth as a stream of bubbles erupts from his nose. He was out of breath. There was no way he would be able to make his way through the entire monument before he suffocated, and he hadn’t even started looking for the exit yet.

He had resolved to wait it out. It was fine. He would just die and respawn, and then he would set to work on the navigation. No big deal.

Only, there was one key feature of an Ocean Monument that he had failed to take into consideration.

A dark shadow is cast on the wall in front of him. One that was much too large to be his own. And without any breath left in his lungs, he turns just in time to see the large figure of the Elder Guardian looming towards him.

BdoubleO100 drowned.

This might have complicated things a bit.

He respawns seconds later, not wasting any time as he immediately goes straight for the creature. He would need to take it out before he could leave the room, and he needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

He had forgotten about the existence of Elder Guardians. They were mobs that had never been the easiest to deal with. Their lasers did a fairly significantly large amount of damage, and they themselves had a ridiculously large amount of health. It took several swings to do them in with even the strongest and sharpest of blades, but poor Bdubs didn’t even have a measly wooden sword.

Ow.

The first strike to the creature leads him to recoil his hand sharply. He had forgotten about their thorns, and god damn that had hurt. He quickly swims across the room to hide behind one of the pillars, hoping to regenerate his health in the meantime.

He quickly realizes this had been a mistake.

He only had so much air within his lungs, and each second he spent regenerating health was one second less of air that remained. He had only gotten in a few hits on the Guardian and he was already gasping for breath.

BdoubleO100 drowned whilst trying to escape Elder Guardian.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. This time when he respawns, he goes straight for the Guardian, hitting it repeatedly. This was no longer a game of the mind. He was going to brute force it for as long as possible, throwing all precautions to the wind, and damn the consequences. He just needed it gone, and he was willing to die as many times as it took for that to occur.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic.

8 hits. The creature had taken exactly 8 hits before it had killed him. And assuming the Guardian retained the damage taken each time, that meant he would have to do the same procedure approximately 4 more times. He cracks his neck.

Alright. I can work with that.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic.

He shakes out his wrists. This was the one. This last round was the deciding factor, and how he would proceed depended entirely on the outcome of this match. In theory, he had already damaged the creature before the start of the second match, and so it shouldn’t have taken the full 8 hits. His eyes lock on his target.

Let’s do this.

BdoubleO100 has just earned the achievement [The Deep End].

BdoubleO100 has just earned the achievement [Monster Hunter].

Several seconds pass. One second. Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten.

BdoubleO100 drowned.

Chapter 2: ZombieCleo

Cleo wasn’t worried. She wasn’t. She knew the goal, and she knew the rules, and she was confident enough in her own abilities that she was sure that no matter where she ended up, she would be fine.

She had been wrong.

She wasn’t a master of everything, and she had never claimed to be. In fact, aside from the woman’s astounding armour stand magic, she wouldn’t have particularly applied the term “master” to herself at all. Cleo was a wiz with that book. In the past she had created beautiful scenery. Animals, vegetation, architecture, and she could create an entire action sequence in the span of an afternoon, but somehow she doubted that manipulating armour stands would come in handy in this particular instance.

Now, the situation was not to be confused, because she was by no means the worst at things - she just also wasn’t the best. But this didn’t mean that she couldn’t do them. She was fine with mining and farming, and was ok at flying, and although she might not have been the best shot at a bow, she could hold her own just fine against the hostile monsters with a blade. The only thing she had never particularly done a lot of was redstone, but even then, she had always been a fast learner, and really she failed to see how a working knowledge of their mechanics would help her survive in this situation anyway.

This had been her thought process going in. Jack of all trades, right? It shouldn’t have mattered where she started. Plains, taiga, desert, ocean. She had enough general knowledge about most everything that she was certain that no matter where she was placed, she could prevail.

She just hadn’t counted on starting in a stone box.

She grumbles to herself as she reluctantly punches out the walls, attempting to create a staircase to the unseeable surface. The process is long and arduous without the use of a tool, and the longer she chips away at the material, the more irritable she becomes. 1 block. 2 blocks. 5 blocks. 8 blocks. By block 10 she was about ready to rip her own hair out, but that is when she finally breaks through to the surface.

“ Finally .” She exclaims, quickly striding up the last few steps of stone where she finally stumbles out into the open.

Black . That is the first thing she sees. An infinite sea of black that stretches on endlessly through the depths of all time and space. And it’s cold . The air feels thick and damp, and it’s not quite enough that she thinks she’s in danger of freezing to death, but she certainly wouldn’t have described it as a form of comfort.

The End was probably not a good place to start. In fact, she was sure it was one of the worst. There was no wood, without which she couldn’t make the tools in order to get the stone. And that was all there was here. Stone . No dirt, no gravel, no sand, nothing she could build with. There was just floating islands of pure endstone, which she couldn’t collect without a pickaxe, a thousand or so enderman, which dropped nothing but ender pearls that were all but useless to her, and a sea of endless void. The main end zone didn’t even have chorus plants like the outer islands, meaning there wasn’t even any food she could eat.

Evidently, the End sucks.

She looks towards the ground as she moves across the stone beneath her feet, trying to avoid angering the other occupants as she strides towards the obsidian pillars near the centre. She just had to get to the portal. All she had to do was go through the portal and she would be back in the Overworld, then she could get the tools she needed so that she could find the others. She just had to get to the portal.

Only, it’s not there.

She walks into the centre to see an empty basin - It hadn’t been activated yet.

And that’s when she hears it.

A sound like a demon hybrid of a screech and a growl pierces her ears. She looks back, only now noticing the bright purple crystals bouncing threateningly atop each black pillar of obsidian. She glances towards the empty basin, then back at the crystals, and then back to the basin.

Another screech interrupts her thoughts, louder this time. And stuck there empty handed, without so much as a single block to her name, Cleo turns just in time to see the dark form of the dragon looming over her.

Notes:

I honestly felt like this would be a bad starting spot for anyone but Cleo got it only because I felt it would probably annoy her the most 😅

Chapter 3: Xisuma

The rules were simple enough. Find the others. There was nothing overly complex about that notion. All they had to do was find each other. Even within the parameters of the game, he wasn’t overly concerned. Xisuma was a good general all-rounder type. He was excellent with almost all forms of technical contraptions, he was well known for his construction of community farms, his building skills were more than subpar, and he was just generally good at problem solving. Not to mention that he was also the designated master of code and really just had a large plethora of knowledge in general. In the grande scheme of things, he should have been relatively prepared for most situations in which he would find himself. Xisuma was set.

This , however, felt like a little bit of a cop-out.

“Oh come on, now.” He mutters to himself under his breath - not that anyone would be able to hear him out here anyway. He couldn’t see any surrounding terrain aside from the very small island where he currently stood, but he imagined that there wouldn’t be any masses of land anywhere close by. In fact, for all intents and purposes, he imagined he was about as far from civilization as one could possibly get within the dimension. He walks the few steps it takes to stride the length of the island, just to be sure, but no, there was nothing.

And it feels a little bit like a cop-out, if he’s honest. Because it wasn’t necessarily wrong within the context - this was probably the worst possible place for him to start.

But only because he literally cannot do anything .

He looks out at the seemingly infinite lake of lava before him. The tiny shelf of netherrack on which he had spawned could hardly be considered an island. It was small enough that he could walk from one end to the other with only a few strides in each direction, and the landscape, if one could call it that, was completely bare. No warped trees, no stone, no vines or sprouts or shoots of any kind. Not even a single, solitary mushroom. Just a completely empty island surrounded by a seemingly endless sea of lava.

He somehow thought this was unfair.

He walks to the edge of the island, looking down into the bubbling expanse of orange before him. It was impossible to see through the murky hot liquid, and for the life of him he couldn’t even tell how far his own island descended into the depths. He chips away at a block right near the edge, breaking it, before staring down into the hot lava beneath it. Just as he thought. The expanse of land on which he stood was nothing more than a simple floating platform hovering about the endless sea.

I guess I can’t tunnel beneath it...

He briefly wonders what would happen if he were to just remove the entire island, but he decides against it. Normal rules would dictate that he would spawn on the next available land space, but then, he had also started in the Nether . They weren’t exactly using normal rules, and he didn’t particularly fancy getting stuck in an infinite death loop of being burnt to a crisp. But he also didn’t exactly have many others alternatives.

He considers his options, which were few if any. Option A - he could take out the island and hope that by some miracle he would spawn somewhere else. This was a good plan in theory, but there was also a high probability that this would destroy his spawn completely, leaving him stranded in a lake of lava and stuck in an infinite death loop for all eternity. Or Option B - he could do nothing. He could simple sit and wait and hope to be found. But even then, this seemed a relatively unlikely scenario. He was so far in the middle of nowhere that he seriously doubted that anyone would simply stumble upon him.

A Strider approaches, emerging from the lava, where it begins to stride across the small expanse of island, shivering and shaking as it begins to turn blue, until it eventually comes to a stop just beside the islands sole occupant.

Xisuma smiles, reaching a hand forward to pat the creatures head fondly.

“At least I have you guys to keep me company.”

The Strider chirps in response.

And that’s when realization dawns on him.

His hand stops it’s movements as he stares down at the creature before him. Striders dropped string. Which could be crafted into wool. Which could be used as a scaffolding block.

He removes his hand abruptly, looking out across the expanse of lava where he can see a plethora of Striders splashing happily within the hot liquid. He looks back at the one on the island, a nauseous sort of feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He stares down at the creature, the realization of what was expected finally dawning upon him, and the man stares down at the form of the Strider with a look of pure horror.

No...

Chapter 4: GoodTimesWithScar

Scar was a builder. Anyone with eyes could have told you as much. He was phenomenal at landscaping, he had a particular knack for custom trees, and overall he just had a keen eye for detail. He loved to build organically, and it had just always been something that had come naturally to him. We will reiterate: Scar was a master builder.

Overall, he felt he shouldn’t be too overly impacted. After all, he was fluent in many styles of building, and so long as he could continue to be able to build, he would be fine. It wouldn’t matter where he was - all he needed was blocks.

How ironic it was then, that he should spawn in a place of relatively restricted access.

The deep ocean wasn’t particularly known for its vast supply of materials. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. Oceans were nothing more than a vast expanse of water that went from sea level to the ocean floor, with some being able to stretch on for hundreds or even thousands of miles.

Due to the plethora of water, the biome itself didn’t particularly pose too much of a threat from a hostile monster standpoint, aside from maybe the few odd drowned that would spawn about. But even then, ordinary drowned had always been relatively easy to deal with. The trident wielding variants might have been more of an issue, but they were a lot less common, and staying near the surface should have been enough to prevent him from being spotted. Drowned were only particularly hostile during the night or if one went underwater anyway, and with that knowledge in mind, all he really had to do was keep his head above the surface and they would just leave him alone. This was good news for him, given his extensive track record of deaths he had acquired throughout the years.

The lack of land, however, did mean that anyone starting there would have a relatively restricted access to resources.

Aside from water, the biomes mostly consisted of a layer of gravel covering the ocean floor. Occasionally he might happen to find the odd spot of dirt or sand, and if he was really lucky maybe even some clay, but aside from that, there were no solid blocks he could obtain. No grass, no wood, no stone. Even then, the few blocks he could  collect were generated at the bottom of the ocean. Meaning he would have to dive all the way down to collect his resources, only to frantically swim all the way back to the surface when his breath inevitably ran out. Coupled with the fact that he had yet to obtain any tools, this meant he would have to break all of the blocks by hand, and when the speed at which one could do so was all but halved due to the surrounding water, this would be a very painfully slow process. Survival in the biome itself was both impractical as well as near impossible.

Lucky him.

Now, the situation was not to be confused, because it wasn’t entirely bad. There were plenty of cod around, so he would at least have a steady access to food. The squid would be a relatively early access to black dye, which was often a pain to obtain later, and once he got his hands on a furnace the kelp would be an easily renewable source of fuel. Even the drowned had a relatively small chance of dropping gold or a trident, which could be useful for crafting, and this would at least give him some form of weapon that provided him a basic means of defending himself.

But it was his lack of other resources that was going to get him killed.

No trees meant no wood, which meant no crafting table, which meant no tools. And without tools, there was only so much he could realistically do in this area.

He swims forward, feeling the cold water lap at his skin through the fabric of his soaked clothing. He couldn’t stay here. He had made his own islands in the ocean before, but to do that he had needed resources of which he now did not possess, nor did he have access to. And in order to obtain them, he was going to need to find land. Any land.

Preferably one with trees.

He continues to swim on across the vast expanse of water, occasionally looking down into the dark depths below. Scar had even had the misfortune of spawning in a cold ocean, which meant he didn’t even have access to coral. Given, he still wouldn’t have been able to obtain the blocks anyway, not without the use of a silk touch pickaxe. But even then, the sea pickles might have provided him with at least a little bit of light, and then he might have at least had something nice to look at. But there was nothing here. Just a vast expanse of cold, dark ocean with nothing more than the water it contained, some bits of gravel, and the occasional spattering of sea grass and kelp.

He looks out onto the endless horizon of water with a sigh.

He really hoped he found land soon.

Notes:

SO

I very much have not finished this entire fic, and as of right now I still have not yet decided on a starting point for Zedaph, Doc, Tango, Etho, Jevin, Beef, Wels, and XB. I also have a VERY temporary location earmarked for both Keralis and False, but I am not married to either of these locations, and as of now I have Iskall written as being SOMEWHERE in the Nether for plot purposes, but nothing specific, so if anyone has any suggestions at all for anything I would love to hear them!

Chapter 5: BdoubleO100

Bdubs had resolved to tackle the Monument methodically. Well, as methodically as was possible for him - meaning not at all. The structures in general consisted of a variety of chambers, each connecting vertically and horizontally to the different parts of the Monument, and he knew the building itself would contain at least six rooms, although there could have been more. This didn’t particularly bode well for him, mainly from a navigation perspective, but it was still doable. He just needed to find the entrance.

The Monument itself would have a total of about 4 floors, one of which he had already covered, having started in the topmost room. The entrance, or exit in this particular case, would be located on the first floor, pretty much directly in the centre of one of the walls. This meant that realistically, all he had to do was find a couple of shoots that would take him down. That shouldn’t have been too difficult of a task. He could do this.

He dives down through the first hole and is immediately faced with a decision. There stood two paths, one directly in front of him, and one just to his left, but both directions with the remaining route obscured from view. He looks between the two tunnels before making a quickfire decision, swimming through the prismarine archway of the hallway in front of him. He’d find out one way or another if this had been the wrong choice.

The hall continued forwards before branching off sharply to the right, and he turns the corner to find-

A dead end.

And a Guardian.

He tries to take it out, but it’s no use. They had too much health, and they dealt too much damage.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Guardian using Magic.

Alright, not the best start.

He starts again, this time with the left tunnel. This one branches off to the left at the end, and once again he turns the corner.

Yes! A downspout!

He immediately swims through the gap in the floor.

One floor down.

Here, he is once again faced by two directions. One on the left, and one on the right. From his current location, he can see that both possess another downspout to the floor below, but which to take...

Going off of the previous direction, he once again decides to take the left tunnel, diving through the gap in the floor, and emerging in the water-filled room below.

This location felt much less like a hall. In fact, the space had almost tripled the size of the rooms previous, with 6 pillars flanking the walls and a single larger pillar directly in the centre of the room. He swims down, surveying his surroundings. This time, there is only one direction for him to take, and he finds himself swimming down another, albeit much longer, hallway. One that looked suspiciously to lead to a side wing.

He swims forward, finally reaching the end of the long hallway, and as he reaches the end of the wall, he makes to turn the corner and-

nOPE .

He immediately turns back around as he comes face to face with yet another Elder Guardian. He makes to swim back down the tunnel from whence he came, but his time was up. A stream of bubbles erupts from his nose as the remainder of his breath runs out.

BdoubleO100 drowned .

Had his lungs currently been capable of holding air, he would have sighed.

He continued on in this fashion for what felt to him to be hours, but in reality he had no way of telling just how much time had passed. A dead end here, a guardian there, BdoubleO100 was slain, BdoubleO100 drowned . This was his fate. He had all but just accepted this as simply being his life now, and he is just starting to think how he will never again see the surface when he finally spots it.

There!

There was the exit. He had finally converged upon the correct chamber, and then the door is right there in front of him. All he had to do was cross the room.

The room which, as it so happened, was also filled to the brim with Guardians.

He takes a solid 1 second to consider before he’s swimming into the room, plowing straight towards the large pack of Guardian’s at full speed. The exit was right there . All he had to do was get to the surface and he would be fine, he could regenerate his health all he wanted. But right now, the only thing standing between him and that reality was roughly 60 feet of water and a whole lot of Guardian’s.

He swims straight ahead, eyes locking on his target goal as he does his best to ignore the creatures. He wasn’t even going to look at them. He didn’t have time to fight them right now, and hitting one would only waste his health.

He’s halfway across the room now, accidentally brushing one of the oversized fish with his shoulder in passing, and their thorns send a sharp pain rushing through his arm.

Ack! He got me!

But he can’t stop. He was almost there! He could almost touch the door now. Just a little bit further and-

He’s shot by a laser.

That one hurt a little bit more. And what’s worse, he was now out of breath. But he’s there. He had finally reached the exit, and he kicks with all his might, propelling himself through the open threshold and away from the dangerous creatures behind him.

And then he’s swimming upwards, the burning in his lungs becoming more difficult to ignore. He was almost out. He’d have to get to the surface soon or he would drowned, and then he’d have to start all over. But it’s so close! He was just there! But the burning is unbearable. He can’t take it anymore. The bubbles erupt from his nose as the remainder of his breath runs out.

Three...

Two...

One.

He breaches the surface with a gasp, immediately filling his half drowned lungs with a gulp of air that had never before felt so satisfying. Half a heart . He had done it with half a heart remaining, and with his hunger still completely full, that meant his health would only continue to improve. He had done it. He had succeeded. He had finally escaped the horrible Monument of his suffering, and now all he needed was for his health to regenerate completely and he could get out of there. He sighs.

He glances down, spotting the form of a single Drowned in the depths beneath him, the creature in question now holding a trident aloft as if poised to fire.

“Oh no you don’t.” He makes as if to move out of the way, but is suddenly interrupted by the last thing he could have possibly expected.

“Bdubs?”

His head immediately swivels around to locate the source of the voice that had called him.

Was that..?

BdoubleO100 was impaled by Drowned.

Chapter 6: ZombieCleo

Notes:

Just a brief disclaimer, I do test all of these escape methods in my own Minecraft world to make sure that they do in fact work, but I also own the Bedrock version and I think the Hermits play on Java so there may be some discrepancies.

The cages should have been simple. Contrary to how the dragon fights typically transpired, she figured that the cages would be relatively easy to deal with. After all, all one really had to do was hit the side of the cage with an enderpearl and they would immediately be teleported straight to the top. All the cage did was ensure that she had a solid place to aim without accidentally hitting the crystal and blowing it, and her, to kingdom come. All she needed was an enderpearl. Which, thanks to the many thousands of enderman the dimension contained, she was not in particularly short supply of.

The real problem would come once she actually got to the top. The end crystals, as was fairly common knowledge, were quite explosive, and hitting one at such close range would definitely result in certain death. Meaning, she would have to dig down at least 2 blocks on the top of the platform in order to stay clear of the blast radius. However, her complete lack of tools or other supplies meant this would lead to one very annoying series of events for the woman.

She was going to have to punch obsidian. 

Cleo had never been the most patient person in the universe, and digging down 2 blocks meant that this would take her roughly 10 minutes for each platform. Multiplied by 10 obsidian towers. This meant she was going to spend at least an hour and 40 minutes just punching obsidian, and that was assuming her plan was executed absolutely perfectly - which, let’s be honest, was about as close to a non-existent reality as one could possibly get.

She twists the enderpearl around in her hand, staring up at the first caged pillar. It wasn’t the tallest platform, but by no means the shortest either. This was one of the easy ones, she reminds herself, squaring her shoulders as she stares down her target, mentally envisioning her aim at the centre of the cage. She glances around briefly for any sign of the dragon, but finds none. It must be on the other side of the island.

Well, no time like the present I suppose...

She takes a deep breath, raising her arm, and she lets lose the pearl.

One second. Two seconds. Three—

POP

The pearl strikes the side of the cage, and then she’s on the ledge. It was a perfect shot. She glances down the side of the pillar warily. It was a long enough drop that she would definitely take a fair amount of damage if she were to fall, or the drop would simply do her in altogether. Even if the drop wasn’t enough to kill her, she didn’t have any food to regenerate her health, and she likely wouldn’t survive much longer after that. Shaking her head, she looks back towards the crystal, now mere feet from her.

The cage meant that it was completely surrounded on all sides, and one would need to breach the containment in order to get to the crystal. She could just break the cage and walk through, but she needed those bars, and she needed as many as it would give her.

Instead, she aims another pearl directly above her head, giving it only a gentle toss into the air. It takes a few seconds to land, but again she feels the familiar pull of teleportation, and then she’s standing on the top of the cage. The bars here didn’t connect like the sides did, which meant that there was a hole wide enough for her to squeeze through. She grips the bars, lowering her feet through the gap, and doing her best to avoid touching the explosive object. She takes another breath, and in one swift motion propels herself through the hole, her feet touching down half a second later with a FWUMP.

And then she’s inside.

She doesn’t waste any time as she immediately starts to dig down from the corner, crouching as she does. Realistically, she knew it wouldn’t prevent the dragon from spotting her, but the action still made her feel at least a little bit more secure.

10 minutes. She needed approximately 10 minutes to break through the obsidian, and she somehow doubted the dragon would stay away for that long. But then, she hoped that maybe the cage would provide her with at least a little bit of protection - she wouldn’t be able to say the same for 8 of the remaining 10 pillars.

Her plan goes off relatively without a hitch. The dragon flew by twice, but either seemed not to notice her, or else was unable to attack from the exterior of the cage. Not that she was complaining about this at all - she was more than happy to have it just ignore her completely for the time being, but she knew this definitely would not continue. 10 minutes pass, and then she’s sat in a hole.

She looks up, just being able to make out the tiniest corner of purple from her current position. She waits until she can’t hear the flapping of wings, being sure it’s safe, before leaping into the air and bopping the crystal with her hand.

The object explodes spectacularly, shattering the iron surrounding it, but Cleo has already descended back into her hole of safety. She doesn’t even take a single heart of damage as the explosion erupts violently above her. And she doesn’t waste any time following it, lightly tossing another pearl into the air and landing atop the platform once more. She swiftly collects the broken shards of iron before throwing yet another pearl towards the ground, leaving the area before the dragon could catch her.

Without a tool, the end had a very limited amount of things she could collect. The only breakable block that she, herself, could obtain were the 4 torches that spawned on the portal, which she had collected almost immediately. Not that they would be of any use here, but they were still resources, and she’ll be damned if she wasn’t going to pick up absolutely everything she possibly could in this environment. The only other things that generated on the main end island was the landscape of yellow stone and the giant pillars of obsidian, with maybe a few bits of bedrock around the portal. None of which she could collect without a tool, or at all. Which left the only other thing that spawned there besides the dragon. Enderman.

Which meant that she had 4 torches and a stack or so of enderpearls to her name.

And now exactly 7 iron bars.

There was only 1 cage left, and assuming it yielded the same amount, that meant she would have 14. Exactly 14 blocks that she could place, after which they could not be removed, and they would become all but useless to her.

14 blocks.

She was going to be sure not to waste them.

Notes:

So there are a FEW characters that I’ve pretty much written their whole storyline in its entirety, and Cleo is one of these characters. I was just very excited about it ok? 😅 Also, realistically I know she could have just blown up the crystals and died every time and she would finished the entire fight a lot more quickly, but I like to believe that she is stubborn and would like to die the least amount of times possible. (Also it was much more fun to write the ~suffering~)

Chapter 7: Xisuma

He wouldn’t do it. He refused. He didn’t know what Gods he had pissed off in order for them to curse him so, but he wasn’t going to play their game. Xisuma loved his striders, almost as much as his bees, and asking him to slay one was like asking Scar to kill his cat.

He wouldn’t do it.

He sits cross-legged in the centre of his island, as if in an act of defiance, although he himself not feeling particularly defiant. In fact, he felt almost the opposite. He was trapped, with nothing more he could do. Alone on a tiny island surrounded by lava with no way of leaving and a very little chance of discovery.

This was torture.

Had they know? He felt they must have. They must have known he wouldn’t harm his beloved striders, and thus would be trapped there upon his island of misery. The creatures were only there as a means of temptation. To taunt him in his own uselessness. Was that the plan? To render him useless? To place him on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere with no way of escaping only because they’d known . They’d know that the only way to truly best him was to ensure he could do nothing at all.

A baby strider waddles up to him, shaking and blue and stumbling over its own feet as it flops haphazardly into his lap. He reaches down towards the innocent looking creature, scooping it up in his hands.

Or were they testing his patience? His loyalty? How long can Xisuma go before the pressure starts to build? How much can he take before he starts to crack? How long can he go before he does the inevitable?

The strider lets out a small, high-pitched chirp, and Xisuma releases it, steering it back towards the edge of the island, and he watches as it bumbles away back into the lava.

Or maybe they’d know that either way it wouldn’t matter. Because in the end, either alternative was just as bad. He could either kill the striders, obtaining their string for wool, and he would be able to leave the island. Or he could stay there and likely never see his friends again, and likewise his friends would be trapped in the world, unable to leave without him.

Would they be upset? Maybe. But he had hoped his friends would know him enough that they would at least understand. He knew they could never hate him for it. They might have been upset by the prospect of being stuck in this world, but they would never hate him.

But instead of making him feel a little bit better about his decision, this knowledge only makes him feel worse.

“Sorry guys.” He mutters into the expanse of nothing that was his surroundings, more to himself than anything else. Again, not that anyone would be able to hear him out here anyway.

But then, maybe someone had.

Or some thing .

A sound like a jumping slime reaches his ears. Only, he knows he’s in the wrong dimension. It couldn’t be a slime. But if it wasn’t a slime, then that meant...

He turns just in time to see the figure of a giant magma cube approaching, and he quickly climbs to his feet.

Not wasting any time, he immediately moves toward the creature, hitting it back before it could travel the expanse of the island. Magma cubes weren’t the lowest on the health chain, and without a weapon, his fists could only do so much damage.

He gets in three hits before he runs, not risking having the creature jump out and cause him damage. Not that it particularly mattered one way or another if he had no way of leaving anyway. But even still, the survival instincts were engrained in him, and really if he was going to die, he would have rather it not been to a magma cube.

One, two, three, back. One, two, three, back. This is the pattern he uses. Over and over, until eventually the monster is slain. He looks to the ground where he can now see a single magma cream sitting perched upon the Netherrack surface. He reaches forward, picking up the single ball in his hands and examining the object.

And that’s when it hits him.

He immediately walks towards the edge of his island, circling the outer perimeter as he stares out into the lake of lava, as if looking for something within its depths. Several minutes pass. Five. Ten. Twenty. In fact it had been almost a full half an hour before he spots it.

He stops, standing on the very edge of his island, as far as it would allow, and another magma cube appears from the depths of the lava, coming straight for him.

He lures the creature onto the island, maneuvering himself as he had before until it, too, has been slain. He continues this entire process an additional 4 times before finally he has acquired the materials that he needs.

4 magma cream.

Taking the objects in his hand, he immediately fashions them into a single magma block before walking to the edge of the island and placing it down, making the platform on which he stood now a single block bigger.

He smiles to himself. He had done it. He had beat the system. He didn’t have to kill his striders after all! He could just wait for Magma Cubes to spawn and then fashion a series of magma blocks of which he could stand. He smiles to himself.

A smile that soon fades as he looks out across the vastness of lava. That one block had taken him an hour to collect. Given, he had admittedly been very unlucky with the drops. The medium and large sized Magma Cubes each had a 50% chance of dropping a magma cream, and he had only gotten 1 in total during his first fight. Another one hadn’t even dropped any at all. In fact, he had fought at least 5 of them to get that single block, but without a looting sword, drops were much more rare, and when he couldn’t leave the island to hunt them down, he could only be so efficient at half efficiency.

He looks down at the magma block at his feet and then out across the lava lake before him.

This could take a while...

Chapter 8: GoodTimesWithScar

Scar had been swimming for a full day without any sign of land. Against all odds, he had somehow managed to survive his first night. A few drowned had come after him, but none so far that had wielded tridents, and with only one night without sleep, he wasn’t yet at the point of spawning phantoms.

But he had still found zero land. In fact, the sun was just starting to rise across the horizon, and he had still found nothing. He had killed off the odd fish, and a few times he had risked the dive to the bottom, collecting whatever blocks he could before returning to the surface, but that was it.

He had mainly just wanted to say that he had something. Anything. He wasn’t used to being empty handed for so long, but in the middle of the ocean, resources were scarce, and he was going to collect everything that he could, even if this consisted of only a few basic scaffolding blocks.

It is almost midday before he finds anything of value. And by value, he meant literally anything at all . The Ocean was just a large mass of nothing, and at this point he was willing to take whatever he could get.

GoodTimesWithScar has just earned the achievement [Ahoy!].

A sunken ship appears in his field of vision, dead ahead, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Now, given the circumstances, a shipwreck wasn’t the most exciting discovery in the world. At this point in the game he would have much preferred the tiniest plot of land with a single tree, but again, given the circumstances, he was also not inclined to complain. Shipwrecks would have chests with loot, which meant supplies. And right now, even some bits of coal and some carrots were as good as diamonds, and he looked to have been lucky enough to have found a ship that was still mostly in tact.

Meaning more loot.

He takes a deep gulp of air before descending below the surface of the water, diving down to the ruins of shipwreck below. He would have to be quick. The structure was a long way down, and he couldn’t hold his breath forever. He would go in, get the stuff, and then leave. In and out.

He opens the first chest that he sees, one that is located at what once might have been the bow of the ship. He pulls out some carrots, some wheat, a few bits of coal, an enchanted leather chest plate, and a single piece of bamboo. This must have been the supply chest. Out of the corner of his eye he can see another chest further down the ship, but he’s not chancing it. He instead swims back towards the surface, propelling himself through the water. He needed to refill his breath before exploring further, and then he could go back for it.

He breaches the surface once again, examining the items he had obtained. He immediately puts on the chest plate, slinging it around his shoulders. Leather wasn’t the best armour to have, but it was certainly better than nothing, and it had Unbreaking II, so at least it would last for a little while.

He waits for a moment more, catching his breath, before diving back beneath the surface. The next chest is located at the stern, and he figured this must have been the treasure variant.

Jackpot.

7 iron, 1 emerald, 2 lapis, a few iron nuggets, and a single diamond. Not that he could do anything with any of that at the moment, but he was more than happy to take the treasures. He swims back to the surface once again.

There was only one chest left, after which he could move on and hopefully find some land. He dives back into the depths again, this time heading towards what once was maybe a captains cabin, but it looked to have long since overgrown with aquatic vegetation; a cod swims through the remains of a broken window and out the door.

He moves to open the chest, peering into its contents. His eye is immediately drawn towards the shape of a treasure map, and he immediately scoops it up in his hand. However, aside from this, the chest did not appear to have anything else of apparent value. Some feathers, some paper, a compass. He takes the items, regardless, stuffing them into his pockets, and then he is making his way back to the surface.

Welp, time to find some land.

Only, land is not exactly what he finds.

He had been swimming for about half a day when he stumbles upon another structure beneath the surface. He is just approaching the building when suddenly, unexpectedly, something leaps from the water directly in front of him.

“Oh no you don’t.”

He blinks, looking at the figure that had now appeared in his line of sight.

“Bdubs?”

BdoubleO100 was impaled by Drowned.

Scar winces.

Whoops...

Chapter 9: BdoubleO100

Notes:

So, following this chapter I have a solid 3 more chapters backlogged that are in the correct publishing order, but I will be starting school again as of tomorrow and will have significantly less time to write, which means I will likely not have as regular of an upload schedule. I will still continue to write away in the background, it might just be a little bit slower than usual 😅

It takes Bdubs just over 15 seconds to get back to the surface again, having pretty much memorized the entire layout of the Monument; having spent the last day and a half navigating its labyrinth-like halls. He breaches the surface once again, this time to see the figure of Scar, the man having now built a very rickety looking platform from a gravel tower connected to the prismarie roof of the structure, and 4 dirt blocks sitting directly over the centre of the Monument. 

“Scar! That was you! Oh good I thought I was hallucinating.” He heaves his body onto the makeshift platform, his soaked clothes dripping loudly as the gush of wet that leaves them smacks against the surface of the water, and he finally climbs out of the freezing Ocean. He immediately runs a hand through his hair, shaking out the water droplets.

Scar chuckles lightly. “Nope. No hallucinations here. Just me. Sorry about that by the way.”

“Oh good! And it’s fine, fine. I mean, it’s not like I had far to go anyway.” He smiles. “How did you find me?”

“Well, I didn’t really mean to, but I’m glad I did. It was starting to get a bit lonely out here, but it looks like these guys have been keeping you plenty of company.” He gestures to the Guardians swimming in the depths below. Bdubs scowls, bunching a corner of his shirt into a ball and wringing the water from the soaked material.

“Yes, they’re like pests that you can’t get rid of. Hateful creatures they are, yOU HEAR ME?” He looks down into the water, pointedly staring at the blob of a fish that was a Guardian swimming happily beneath his feet. “HATEFUL CREATURES!” The Guardian simply meanders on, completely unperturbed by the man yelling insults at it above the surface. Bdubs jerks his arms up and down, shaking the water from the sleeves.

“So you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yes, I spawned in the top room there.” He points to the structure beneath him before finally falling back against the platform, taking a deep breath of air as he looks up at the sky above him. “Air is a very lovely thing, Scar. Very lovely, yes.”

Scar smiles, reclining his hands behind his head as he too looks up at the sky. “Yes, yes it is.”

They are silent for a moment longer, the pair lying serenely, simply watching the clouds roll by above them, before Bdubs speaks again.

“So where did you start?”

“Somewhere out in the Ocean. I’ve been swimming for almost 2 days. No sign of land, but I did manage to raid a shipwreck.” Scar moves into a sitting position. “No tools, but there was at least a bit of food. I suppose it’s a good thing I went the direction I did though, or I might not have found you.”

“Yes, it was very lucky!”

The water laps at the side of their platform, and they listen as the waves crash gently around them, the sun warming their sodden forms. Again, a bought of silence washes over the two as they sit and contemplate, before Bdubs once again speaks.

“Right, now that that’s over with,” he gestures vaguely towards the form of the Monument as a whole “let’s get out of here.” He makes as if to stand, but stops short.

“What are you talking about, we can’t leave.”

He looks down at the form of Scar who had yet to move from his sitting position. “Say what?”

“We can’t leave, we’re in the perfect spot. We need be smart about this.

Bdubs blinks. He was joking. Surly he must have been joking. He had spent almost 2 days trying desperately to escape the Ocean Monument, drowning repeatedly and gasping for air and getting slain over and over again by Guardians, and now Scar wanted to stay there?

“Aren’t we supposed to find the others? We can’t really find people if we stay here.”

“No, but they can find us .”

Bdubs blinks again.

“Scar, we are in the middle of the Ocean. How exactly do we think people are going to find us out here?”

Scar shrugs nonchalantly. “Cartographers.”

“...Come again?”

“Bdubs, you’ve died enough times to Guardians that people definitely know you’re at an Ocean Monument. And the Cartographers in Villages sell maps.” He pauses. Bdubs blinks. “ To Ocean Monuments .”

A beat.

“...Oh!”

Scar smiles.

“Exactly. People know that you’re here. All we have to do is stay here and those maps will lead people right to us.”

Chapter 10: Stressmonster101

Notes:

This chapter is tagged for slight bits of blood, but respawn is still a thing, so she will be fine. Non-permanent injury!

Stress had never liked the Nether. It was no secret that she just avoided it like the plague. She had never been one of those people that spent hours making a complex system of Nether tunnels, because she just simply didn’t go in the Nether.

Ever.

To an extent she could see the appeal. The horizontal distances in the Overworld were scaled down by a ratio of 8:1 for travel in the Hell Dimension, which essentially meant that traveling in the Nether was 8 times as fast. Really some of the blocks were rather pretty as well, particularly pertaining to the forest biomes or blackstone variants, and if you wanted anything to do with potions, chances are you were going to have to go to the Nether for ingredients. To this extent she could see why others liked it so much.

It was everything else she detested.

The ghasts. The blaze. The hoglins. The pigmen. The lava . There were far too many things in the Nether that could and wanted to kill her, and really it was an entire dimension that was just designed to, well, stress her out .

Given the parameters of the game, it hadn’t particularly surprised her when she had started there. Given that anyone who knew her for more than a day and a half could probably tell you her fear of the dimension, she had been expecting it, really.

What she failed to take into account, however, was that there were some places in the Nether that were so much worse.

“Nice Piggy...”

She peaks her head out from behind the blackstone wall, side-eying the Piglin that stood just around the corner. Stress had endured the misfortune of spawning in the middle of a Bastion, and while the Piglins normally wouldn’t have been too much of an issue, provided of course that one was wearing at least a singular piece of golden armour, right now these creatures were going to be, and in fact had already been, the death of her.

She had of course started with nothing, as was typical and expected, but while this might not have been too much of an issue in the Overworld, it was certainly going to be a big problem in the Nether.

She moves to tiptoe out the door, doing her best to sneak around while the Piglins back was turned, somehow managing to navigate the course of the room without being spotted. She didn’t even care about the fabled loot chests that contained all manner of rare and highly sought after items. In fact, right now, she couldn’t have cared less. She just wanted to get out of there.

She creeps up another winding staircase of a corridor, her heart beating loudly in her own ears, and she silently prays that it is not in fact as loud as it appears for fear of discovery. She had already died multiple times, so this was by no means her first attempt at escape, but without any armour, those pigs were drawn to her like a heat sinking missile.  She could hardly handle ordinary zombies in the Overworld who would attack at a little more than a leisurely stroll, but when things in the Nether tended to charge at her at full speed, she simply just did not cope.

She rounds the corner, immediately stumbling upon a group of Piglins, and she immediately turns back around, making as if to go back the way she had come, but it’s no use, they had spotted her. She lets out a high pitched squeal as the group converges upon her.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin.

She groans.

I hate the Nether. I hate the Nether. I hate . The nETHER .

This was torture. She couldn’t go anywhere without those Piglins attacking, and they were absolutely everywhere . She’d hardly even made it outside of her own spawning chamber without immediately dying to swarms of the beasts. If she could just get her hands on some golden armour...

She spawns again, striding to walk to the nearest doorway as she once again attempts to find an exit.

But she hadn’t traveled far. She had only gone a few feet away when she once again spots the familiar form of a single Piglin, the creature in question donned in full golden armour, and a purple aura emanating from its golden blade. But it’s too late to go back. She had been careless with her footsteps, and the Piglin is now charging towards her at full speed.

“Oh come on, now! I’ve barely left spawn!”

She turns on her heel, running circles around the room as she attempts to stay ahead of the creature. “No! Stay back! Back !” She turns around briefly, wacking the pig on the snout, before turning again, continuing to run. “ Back  I say!”

She repeats this process several more times before something amazing happens. She turns to bop the Piglin once again, only this time when her fist makes contact, the creatures lets out a high pitched squeal, toppling over towards the ground where its body proceeds to dissipate into a puff of smoke.   

She blinks, mouth agape, as she stares at the place where the creature had been slain, completely in shock with herself that she had somehow managed to kill it. 

And then she notices.

A single golden chest plate sat perched upon the ground in the spot where the Piglin had died, and she hastily reaches for the armour, slinging it around her back as she dons the gear. It was almost completely out of durability, but at that moment it didn’t particularly matter. After all, she hadn’t intended for the use to be an armour anyway. She just needed it to last long enough so she could get through the Bastion without the Piglins rushing her around every corner, and in theory the garment would make them leave her alone. She smiles.

And then she screams.

She recoils forwards when she feels a sharp jab of pain in her right shoulder, and she turns to see the form of a now bloodied axe raised to strike, another Piglin now standing directly behind her.

Only, this one is different.

Contrary to the way the Piglins normally dressed themselves, this one is clad entirely in robes of black, a large and prominent golden buckle fastening a thick leather belt round the creatures waist. The contrasting gold of the accessory looks sharp against the onyx material. Regal, pristine. And the combination makes the outfit stand out, placing the abode well above the everyday standard of the typically tawny brown robes of which the other occupants possessed.

The creature carried no armour, save for a single golden arm plate fastened around its left forearm, but even then, Stress imagined this simple accessory was mostly aesthetical. She couldn’t have imagined it possibly needed use of any armour, and really why would it need to? They were fast, and strong, and hit like a truck, and really all a set of armour would do was slow them down.

She immediately rights herself and runs across the room, ignoring the pain in her shoulder as she takes off at a sprint through the winding hallways. But she doesn’t get far. She turns a corridor only to find a dead end. And then shes trapped.

She watches the creature round the corner, catching a glimpse of the prominent scar that sliced directly through its left eye, marring the tissue with a series of spider like cracks that warped the skin around the area; deep rooted grooves that branched off across the face like an intricate system of veins. 

The Piglin charges towards her, the light from the lava somewhere outside the window casting the room in a dull reddish glow, and the creature raises its axe menacingly, her own blood dripping from the edges of the golden blade.

Oh this is not fair...

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Chapter 11: ZombieCleo

Notes:

So, again, I know she could really just enderpearl to the top of the towers and whack the crystals and die every time and this would be a lot faster, but I figured Cleo is stubborn enough to try for no deaths, and since pain is still a thing in this universe (even though there is no permanent death) I figured exploding would hurt a lot. This was also one of those chapters that I tested extensively in my own world, and it does work so it is completely possible, it just takes a very long time to punch obsidian.

The Gods were testing her. She was sure that was what was happening. She was certain that whatever deities had come to place her on this wretched world were currently sat around their celestial version of a spy glass and laughing. Pointing and laughing and just generally finding all manner of enjoyment in her current suffering.

They were testing her patience. That was it. How long can Cleo go before she finally loses it? Let’s all watch as Cleo suffers and toils as her mind finally descends into insanity. This was all just some elaborate test that she was expected to pass.

She was failing horribly.

She wasn’t annoyed. Oh no. Cleo would not have described herself as feeling annoyed, because in honesty that word was not an accurate representation of her thoughts. In fact she had long since surpassed annoyed. The word annoyed had left her arsenal of feeling hours ago. Now, she was just pissed off.

Because it couldn’t end like this .

She had taken out just over half of the crystals dotted around the island, somehow against all odds having managed to survive this long without dying. She hadn’t particularly factored into account that the larger obsidian pillars were also twice as wide, which meant that she couldn’t just drop an iron bar 2 blocks down from the top and expect to hit it from there as she could with the smallest pillars. It was out of range. And she couldn’t exactly stand on the top and simply dig her way down either, the dragon came by much too frequently for that.

How she had been tackling these larger pillars was simple. She would enderpearl to the top of the tower, where she would then walk to one of the corners and place a single iron bar on the 3rd block from the top along the side of the structure. She would then jump down to the bar, out of direct view of the dragon, where she would stand and proceed to remove 2 vertical blocks of obsidian. At which point, she used this space as a foothold for herself as she removed another 2 blocks closer to the centre, where she was finally close enough to reach the crystal and destroy it.

This method wasn’t fool proof, but it worked well enough for the most part. And really, she didn’t have much other choice if she didn’t want to get blown up. This method did, however, mean that her original calculations of timing had been off. She had factored 2 blocks of obsidian per pillar, which would have been about 1 hour and 40 minutes of obsidian removal. But the size of the larger pillars meant that she had to remove an extra 2 blocks of obsidian along the side in order to get to the space she needed where she was in range.

Which meant that the removal of blocks on each one of these large pillars took roughly 20 minutes instead of 10.

She was sure that whatever chaos Gods had created her were having a field day.

Granted, her calculations hadn’t been too far off the mark. 2 of the 10 pillars had been small enough that she hadn’t needed to break any obsidian at at. She had simply teleported up, placed her iron bar on the 3rd block from the top, and simply whacked the crystal before scarpering away. The diameter had been small enough that she was already in range, and she had finished off both of those crystals within minutes.

The others weren’t quite so lucky.

The caged ones had provided a small form of protection, and the short ones were skinny enough that she hadn’t had to break any blocks, which was nice. But she had severely misinterpreted just how large the remaining 6 towers actually were.

Now, don’t get her wrong. The extra time involved in the removal of these structures was more than a little inconvenient, and she was by no means happy about the procedure. But this was only part of the reason for her disscontempt. There had been another development that, as of this particular moment, took far more precedence over the obsidian issue.

She collapses against the wall of the stone box she had started in, her body crippling towards the obsidian floor as she curls in on herself in a ball. She squints her eyes shut and rocks against the floor, as if the movement will somehow cause the crippling pain to subside, or the sudden lack of sight would somehow block out her other senses as well, and she would no longer be able to hear the sickening screeches of the still very upset dragon that she knew was circling outside.

She was just so hungry .

She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever been this hungry - she had just always had ready access to food. She really took for granted how easy it was to find food in the Overworld. It was easy enough to find a handful of seeds in the grass in order to grow some wheat. Animals like cows and pigs and sheep were at ready supply. If you found a Village, chances are there were more than enough crops to go around, and the residents were often more than happy to trade those crops for better sources of nourishment. Fish was easy enough to catch, and even kelp was an easy and renewable source of food.

But out here, there was nothing.

No meat, no bread, no berries. If she had spawned on one of the outer islands, she might have at least had access to chorus fruit, which would still have been more than a little annoying to eat, but at least it was something.

Here she had nothing. Just 4 torches, some ender pearls, and a rapidly shrinking amount of iron bars.

Her hunger was out. She could feel it. It had been a last ditch effort to hide herself away so that when the inevitable happened, she would at least be able to recover the few items she actually possessed. Her stomach hurt. The hunger was unbearable. She couldn’t take the pain anymore, but she knew it was almost over.

Three. Two. One.

She rests her head on her knees.

ZombieCleo starved to death.

After everything she had been through. After hours of punching obsidian and dodging around the dragon and avoiding disgruntled enderman, and this was how she goes out.

She reappears seconds later in almost the same spot she had died, immediately locating her lost items and reclaiming them once again.

In the grande scheme of things, she knew it hadn’t really been her fault. After all, she could only realistically fight for so long before hunger inevitably started to take over. And with no food available to satiate it, her death had been inevitable.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still embarrassing.

Starving to death was probably the most noobish way to die, and she could just imagine what the others thought when they saw the text across their screens. She takes out her own communicator, looking at the screen as if expecting her friends to blast her in the chat, but they don’t. They can’t. None of them could communicate through text, and she knew this. But the silence only makes her feel worse, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had become of her friends.

Suddenly, as if on cue, her communicator lets out a loud ding, and another message pops across the screen.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin.

Despite the morbid message, she can’t help the slight smile that twitches at the corner of her lips as she reads the text.

At least someone’s in the same boat as me.

There’s silence for a moment longer before another ping sounds throughout her room-like box.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Cleo blinks, staring down at the message. She knew Stress had been in the Nether - it hadn’t particularly surprised her that she had started there. This wasn’t the first time she had been slain by its creatures, and it wasn’t the first time Cleo had seen her death message. But there was only one place that spawned Piglin Brutes.

Stress is in a Bastion.

Given, this was still a very open ended discovery. Bastions were generated exclusively in the Nether, but even then, they could still be found in 4 out of the 5 biomes that were generated there. They were both common and rare, and while this really wasn’t exactly an explicit set of directions to her location, it certainly narrowed it down.

But Cleo, on the other hand, was probably in the only place that could point directly to her location.

She throws her things on the ground once again, not wanting to risk their destruction, before marching back to the surface, straight towards the centre of the island, and she looks up.

She waves her arms frantically as she tries to grab the attention of the beast. She was in the open, with no armour, no sword. And it only takes the dragon a second to notice before it is coming straight for her. Cleo takes a deep breath, squinting her eyes shut as she braces for the impact.

ZombieCleo was slain by Ender Dragon.

She reappears moments later in her box of stone, collecting her items once again before they despawn, and looking at her communicator.

She couldn’t have possibly been more direct than that. There was only one End dimension, and only one Ender Dragon, and it only spawned on one island. She had essentially told the other Hermits exactly where she was.

She smiles to herself at her own cleverness, when suddenly 2 messages appear simultaneously across her screen. 

JoeHills was slain by Silverfish.

Rendog was slain by Shulker Bullet.

She stares at the message, blinking down at the names that had appeared.

It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen a death message from Joe. The man had been slain by all manner of mobs - creepers, skeletons, spiders, skeletons , zombies, more skeletons . It didn’t particularly come as too much of a surprise for her - Joe had never been much of a fighter. But the Silverfish was new.

Poor Joe. He must be in a Stronghold.

She was just about to head back to the surface when another thought occurs to her.

Rendog .

That had been the first time she had seen his name cross the chat, and this was her first real insight into how he had been faring. At face value, the message itself wasn’t anything overly spectacular. People died all the time, and her communicator frequently displayed such messages.

It was the manner of his death that intrigued her.  Ren had been slain by a Shulker Bullet.

A Shulker Bullet!

Which was something that could only be produced from a live Shulker.

Which was something that was found exclusively in End Cities.

Ren was in the End.

She blinks down at the text before her, this new information settling in her brain. 

Cleo wasn’t alone .

Chapter 12: JoeHills

Notes:

UPDATE: The ending of this chapter has been changed slightly as I made a mistake with the crafting recipe of Ender Eyes, but this should be fixed now!

Joe had never been much of a fighter. He was a lousy shot with a bow, he lacked the coordination for the use of a sword, and he was fairly certain he’d never even held a trident before.

Joe was a man of words. He wrote poetry and recited Shakespeare and could rattle off any number of facts or interesting tidbits you wanted to know. But he was definitely not a fighter.

A Stronghold probably wasn’t the greatest place for him to start.

Strongholds were big and dark, and without proper lighting tended to spawn all manner of hostile monsters that wanted to kill him. His particular variant of the structure happened to intersect a skeleton spawner, which was more than a little bit difficult to disable when he didn’t have any torches, and hoards of skeletons tended to spawn every 5 seconds.

Don’t get him wrong, Joe was always up for a challenge. He enjoyed complicated puzzles and quests, and the winding labyrinth-like structure of the stronghold made it almost kin to that of a novel escape room, and he revelled at the prospect.

He just couldn’t get around all of the dang mobs .

It was almost a form of irony that he had started there. It took something he enjoyed, and was good at, and had turned it against him. It was like unstoppable force meets immovable object. The maze he could deal with. The monsters, not so much.

He had been wandering the halls when the message appears.

ZombieCleo starved to death.

It hadn’t been the most glorious death in the world. In fact, it seemed very out of character for Cleo to die in such a way. The redhead often didn’t go mining or exploring until she had set up at least a basic wheat farm to keep herself stocked with food. It wasn’t uncommon for her to still be in her ordinary clothing when everyone else had already acquired a full set of armour and tools, whereas she often stayed instead on the surface to farm her crops.

For Cleo to starve was almost unheard of, and he can’t help but think of the connotations of this knowledge. If Joe knew Cleo, and he did, food would have been the first thing she went after. With that knowledge in mind, Cleo wouldn’t have starved unless she either couldn’t find, or else did not have access to food.

There was only so many places Joe could think of that wouldn’t have available sustenance. Anywhere with grass would have easy access to seeds in order to grow wheat. He supposed it could be possible that she hadn’t had access to wood, and by extension, the tools she needed to till the soil, but even then there were plenty of other available food sources. There were plenty of animals in grassy areas, and anywhere with trees had a possibility of producing apples. She could have spawned in a cave, but mineshafts often had chests containing bread, and even areas like desserts and badlands would spawn monsters at night, which often dropped things like spider eyes or rotten flesh that she could use in a pinch, although he imagined she might have a slight aversion to that last one. Even the Nether had access to pork from Hoglins, and the outer End islands would have chorus fruit, which would be annoying, but still food none-the-less.

He is mulling over the options when another message flashes across his screen.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin.

Now that death was a lot more open ended. There were Piglins all over the Nether, and the only piece of information this gives him was her dimension of origin. Stress could have been anywhere in the Nether.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Well that certainly narrowed it down.

Piglin Brute’s could only spawn in one location, and that was a Bastion. Not that this information particularly did anything for Joe. As of right now, he had no way of getting to the Nether, not that he was particularly prepared for the trip anyway, but the information might at least help someone else who was in the same dimension.

Another message crosses his screen.

ZombieCleo was slain by Ender Dragon.

Joe blinks, staring down at his screen.

The Ender Dragon.

He takes off at a sprint down the halls.

The Ender Dragon!!

Of course! It all made sense now! It was only logical that Cleo would have no access to food on the main island. No wonder she had starved to death! She was literally fighting the dragon with her fists! It was really a wonder she hadn’t been slain before that.

He knew this had been her sending a message. There was no way she would have lasted that long fighting the dragon only to die of starvation, only to then be slain by the dragon 2 minutes later. She had effectively told him exactly where she was.

He turns the corner, finding the room he was looking for, catching the familiar glow of the lava off the stone walls of the structure. He runs into the portal room, slaying 3 Silverfish as he does, before climbing the stone steps to the alter.

And he stares through the frame to the lava pool on the other side. The portal wasn’t lit. And it only had 3 of the 12 eyes in place. His face falls. He might  have been able to scrounge together enough ender pearls for the frame, but in order to craft the eyes he was going to need blaze powder.

9 blaze powder.

There was no Blaze in the depths of a Stronghold. In fact, there were no Blaze within his dimension. To get the powder, he would need the rods, and to get the rods, he would need a Blaze, and to find a Blaze, he would need to go to the Nether. There was almost a kind of irony in that knowledge. Joe was in one dimension, Cleo was in another, and in order to get to her, he would need to go to a third. 

He almost found a sort of humour in the situation. Was that why this was the worst spot for him? Because of Cleo? Because they’d known that separating them would undoubtedly hurt the most, and thus had been placed three dimensions apart? Was the sole purpose of placing him in a Stronghold merely to taunt him with the knowledge that he would never be able to reach her?

He supposed it was still technically possible. After all, getting to the Nether wasn’t the problem. Even without a Diamond pick, he could probably make the obsidian fairly easily. There was a fountain with water just 2 rooms over, and the portal room contained enough lava that, provided he could scrounge together the iron for a bucket, he wouldn’t have any trouble making the portal.

The problem would come once he actually got there. In order to find the blaze, he was going to have to locate a Nether fortress, which was something easier said than done. Nether Fortresses weren’t exactly rare, per say, they could spawn in any biome within the dimension, but depending on his luck, this could prove to be a more daunting task. He hardly expected to just stumble upon one the second he went through the portal, and depending on where he started, things could go south quickly. The Nether wasn’t exactly known for its pleasant atmosphere or cheery occupants, and Joe wasn’t exactly know for his fighting skills. Was it possible? Yes. But probable?

He stares at the empty frame of the portal. He was so close . He knew exactly where she was, and here he sat staring at the one device that could take him straight to her.

And it couldn’t be activated.

He was so close . And yet so very very far.

Notes:

Alright! So this was the last chapter that I had backlogged that was in the correct publishing order (because I don’t write things in order because I’m weird). I am still working on other chapters, but I will likely not be updating as quickly for the next month or so while I finish school. Just know it is still being worked on!

Chapter 13: GoodTimesWithScar

Notes:

For those who haven’t seen, the ending of the last chapter was changed slightly because my brain was having a moment and I messed up the crafting recipe for Ender eyes, and this changed the last several or so paragraphs after he discovers the portal, but nothing major.

Also! For those asking about the wood of the shipwreck, I did test the breaking of wood under water without tools and can confirm that you start taking damage before the block is completely broken. According to the wiki, wood takes 15 seconds to break underwater without a tool, which is pretty much exactly how long a player can hold their breath before taking damage. Also not counting the time it takes to swim down to the ocean floor and then back to the surface again. I tested it in my own world, and you can technically break it and swim back to the surface with half a heart remaining, but I figured Scar would bail the second he started taking damage. (I do also test using the Bedrock edition though, so if any of this is different in Java I might have a few discrepancies)

“So...”

Scar casts a fishing line towards the open water, the whirring cogs of the trawl letting out a high pitched reeeeee as it’s cast. The duo had happened across a fishing rod the day before, having commandeered the tool from one of the nearby drowned that occupied the area, and thus far, this singular rod had been their primary means of entertainment.

“So...”

The lure lands with a plop, sinking below the water before floating back to the surface once more, the object marring the reflection of moonlight upon the watery facade as a series of echo-like ripples protrude from the area surrounding.

“I somehow don’t think you thought this plan through.”

“I mean...” Scar scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “I thought it was a good idea at the time...”

The high pitched screech of a Phantom can be heard somewhere above their heads, and Scar glances upwards nervously.

The pair currently sat beneath the roof of their makeshift shack, the decrepit looking structure looking very much akin to a mass of mud pie that had been sculpted by the hands of a 5 year old in the rain, having then sat upon the porch for days and dried to become the mess of crusty dirt that it now was. The structure itself consisted of at least 3 different kind of blocks, with sand and gravel interspersed haphazardly throughout the walls, and an ordinary dirt ceiling; dirt being the only other block in their possession that didn’t contain gravity mechanics. The walls themselves weren’t even particularly square, sitting on a sort of lopsided curve of support beams that looked to be on the verge of collapse.

In their defence, night had been approaching fast, and with both members now having gone the obligatory three nights without sleep, that meant that Phantoms would start to spawn - The decrepit structure of a dirt shack had been their last ditch effort to construct a scrap of shelter before the mobs spawned. And he wouldn’t lie, it wasn’t pretty. In fact, their sad excuse of a shelter would have been considered ugly even by normal standards, but considering who had made it, the building was downright pathetic. Was it pretty? No. But functional? Debatable.

“As a man that spent 2 days swimming through the Ocean with zero resources, I think you might have overlooked one tiny detail.”

“I mean, you agreed with me!”

“And I should not be held accountable for my decisions when I spent the last day and a half deprived of oxygen!”

A Phantom makes a dive towards the structure, and Bdubs ducks instinctively, the creature moving past the opening in the wall before flying back into the sky. On the other side of their structure, Scar starts to sweat nervously.

“...I may have gotten a bit ahead of myself.”

“Ya think?”

The fishing lure dips beneath the surface and Scar reals it in, on the end of which now dangling a single pair of leather boots, the laces strung together in a series of intricate knots, and both positively filled to the brim with water.

Scar turns towards Bdubs, offering a sheepish sort of smile as he holds the commodity aloft, water dripping heavily from the soaked leather, and a single strand of seaweed caught between the laces.

“Want some old boots?”

“My turn with the rod.”

Scar hands over the tool wordlessly, the sun just starting to peak across the horizon, and the lure lands amongst the waves with a prominent plop. Scar turns, staring down into the depths of Ocean below, and a single cod swims idly beneath the base of their platform.

“I mean, the plan isn’t entirely ruined right? We known the coordinates, so we just need one of us to stay here while the other goes out to collect resources.”

Bdubs gives the rod a prominent yank, pulling the line from the water and revealing the flopping form of a fish now suspended from the end of the hook.

“Perfect. So you stay here while I go get stuff.”

“Actually I think you should stay and I should go.”

Bdubs looks over at him.

“Why do you get to go?”

“Because I won’t be able to do anything if you leave and I’m stuck with all these Guardian’s around.” Scar reasons. “But you however, your spawn is set here, so if you die you won’t have to swim across the entire Ocean for days just to get back.”

“And what if you don’t find land before the day’s over? How are you going to deal with all the phantoms?”

A beat.

“...hope I find land before they spawn?”

“Right. Great. Fantastic. Solid plan.”

Scar sighs.

“Alright, fine. Once I get far enough away from the Monument, I’ll get rid of this mining fatigue. Then I can dive down and collect blocks all I want. If it gets close to night time, I’ll just make another platform and wait it out. Simple.”

“Ok, and what am I supposed to do?”

Scar shrugs. “I mean, firstly you’ll probably wanna get rid of those Elder Guardians, but I mean you build stuff, right? You can always start making a base.”

“...”

“...”

“...a base...”

“Yeah.” Scar nods. Bdubs blinks.

“...you want me...to make a base ...”

“Umm...yeah?”

Bdubs turns around completely now, angling his whole body so that he is now fully facing Scar.

“ Out of what ?”

“I mean, there’s stuff around. You’ve got some sand, gravel, dirt-“ Bdubs cuts him off.

“And what am I supposed to do with sand, gravel, and dirt?”

“Say’s the man that makes castles out of diorite.” Scar counters.

“It’s not just diorite!” He fumbles. “I can’t just... build things! You need a block palette!”

“I just gave you one! Sand, gravel, dirt. Block palette.”

Bdubs looks over at him as if thoroughly disturbed by the suggestion.

“You want me to make a house...out of sand, gravel, and dirt .”

The sun makes its ascension across the horizon and the remaining phantoms screech loudly as they are burnt by its rays. Scar pokes his head from the relative shelter of their hut, slinging his feet across the side of the platform, and submerging them in the cool water of the Ocean.

“Think of it as like a fun little challenge.”

Bdubs watches as Scar slides his body into the frigid sea once more, taking care to avoid any signs of approaching Guardians, as his hand clings to the side of the platform.

“Scar...”

But Scar is already leaving, the man moving to swim away from the scene as he calls back towards his companion.

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something!”

Chapter 14: Stressmonster101

Notes:

Another warning for slight bits of blood, but she is still fine!

Her singular golden chest plate hadn’t particularly lasted long with the Piglin Brute around. She had attempted to collect it after the first time the creature had attacked, but after being slain another 4 times on her quest for its retrieval, she had eventually given up, and the commodity had despawned.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

This is the cycle that continues, the creature having now found its way into her spawn chamber, and she barely even had enough time to take a step forward before it has converged upon her again.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

She was sure that her friends must have been about ready to chuck their communicators across the room in frustration at the constant stream of death messages.

The creature had killed her 5 times before she even thought about fighting back, and even then she had died another 2 before she had mustered enough courage to actually hit it. She of course had dealt with the normal Piglins before, she had died more than once to the swarms of creatures that lurked within the ruinous corridors of her Bastion, and she had even managed to kill the last one before the Brute had discovered her. Mind you, she had taken it running, kicking and screaming as she had tried to just avoid it altogether, but the important part was that it had died in the end. But these were different. The Piglin Brutes were on a whole other level compared to the traditional sort.

For starters, they hit like a truck. Brutes dealt almost twice the amount of damage that a normal Piglin would, which meant that getting hit by one hurt a lot more. And they couldn’t be tempered. They didn’t get distracted by gold or become pacified by the armour variant, meaning that even if she did somehow manage to get her hands on another piece of armour, there was still no guarantee that she would be completely safe. And really, she felt “completely safe” was a term that should not have been applied to the Nether anyway. Not when the rest of the dimension was filled with Ghasts and Blaze and all other manner of hostile creatures that wanted to eat her face. This was just the first step, she reminds herself. The rest of the Nether would have a completely different set of challenges thrown her way, and she didn’t even want to think about how she was going to tackle those.

She looks back over her shoulder to the still approaching Piglin behind her, continuing to sprint up the nearest staircase as she tries to escape. But this had been a mistake. The momentary lapse of directional attention is enough to cause her to stumble over her feet as she runs, wobbling slightly as she struggles to find her footing again. The little slip up hadn’t been enough to cause her to fall over completely, but it’s just enough so that it takes her a second to regain her balance - a second that allows the creature to catch up to her.

She cries out as she feels the blade of the axe slice through the material of her shirt, making blunt contact with the side of her stomach, and the fabric of clothing around the area immediately turns to a deep red.

The overall weight and force behind the strike is enough to knock her forward several feet, smashing her roughly against the wall of the structure, and she collapses to the floor. Her hand immediately moves to clutch at the wound on her abdomen, feeling the sticky wetness of blood that coated the area, even as the wound itself is already starting to close beneath her fingertips. Regen might have still been a thing, but that didn’t mean the blow had hurt any less.

But she doesn’t have time to catch her breath, the Brute still fast approaching. She rolls out of the way just in time for the axe to come down again, the metal blade hitting the floor beside her with a prominent CLANG , and she quickly scrambles to her feet, resuming her running.

What she needed was a weapon. Any weapon. Stress had never been one to condone violence, but this bit of running for her life wasn’t cutting it anymore, and she could only do so much damage with her fists.

She turns the corner, now finding herself on the exposed vicinity of the bridge. There’s 3 chests stationed there, spaced roughly 3 blocks apart, and without another Piglin in sight, she goes straight for them.

Please have a sword, please have a sword, please have a sword...

She opens the first chest, immediately pocketing its contents. There’s several golden nuggets, a loadstone, and a pair of enchanted golden boots, which she immediately steps into. But no sword.

SHI-  !!

She jumps back swiftly, the Brute converging upon her again, and the axe strikes down hard against the floor space between the first and second chest. The echoing clang of the impact reverberates loudly throughout the exposed room, and there is definitely no way that the other occupants hadn’t been alerted to the sound.

She runs the length of the bridge, doubling back again once she has obtained a fair distance from the creature, and then she goes for the second chest.

Sword, sword, sword, sword... yes !

The Piglin converges upon her again, only this time when it brings its axe down, the weapon is stopped short with a loud clang of steel, and Stress swiftly blocks the blow with a sword. She pushes back against the axe, using both hands to shove at the blade of her weapon and propel the Piglin backwards, and she gets a solid hit on the creature.

The pig lets out a squeal of rage, and she immediately backs up, narrowly avoiding another swing of the axe as she once again takes off at a sprint across the room. She turns again, the axe descending through the air once more, and she once again blocks the blow with her sword, the impact of the strike causing the metal to vibrate along the blade, and she hits it again.

She makes as if to approach the last remaining chest, but as her hand reaches for its latch, a single arrow descends through the air, striking her between her shoulder and collarbone, and she lets out a yelp of pain. She turns to see a pack of Piglins now converging upon them, hoards of them approaching from all directions as they flow into the room through countless doors and crevices. She narrowly manages to dodge another sweep of the Brutes axe, and another arrow descends from above, striking her in the back.

Time to go.

She gets another hit on the Brute, and then she bolts, running down the length of the bridge as arrows continued to fly past her head, the large pack of Piglins now locked firmly upon her.

Stressmonster101 has just earned the achievement [Oooh, shiny!]

She throws whatever golden nuggets were currently in her possession to the ground, hoping to at least distract a few of them. But it’s a dead end. The bridge cuts off roughly, and then there is nothing. At least, nothing she can see from this angle, she wasn’t close enough to tell. But she also couldn’t particularly turn around either.

She was going to have to jump. That was her only hope of survival. If any of the Piglins caught up to her, she would surly be killed and have to start all over, and she would have no hope of recovering whatever small quantity of items were currently in her possession with this many of the creatures around. Of course, if she fell to her death she would be no better off, but she didn’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of her decisions. Right now, the only thing that mattered was that there was 2 options. Stay or jump. She could die either way, but if she jumped there was a chance of survival. A small chance, mind you, but it was a chance none the less. And right now, she wanted to live.

She approaches the end of the bridge, running at full speed, and with arrows raining down upon her, she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she blindly leaps from bridge.

And then she’s falling. Down, down into the abyss, and she can’t look. She won’t. If she was headed straight for a lake of lava, or else was going to land with a splat against the surface below, breaking every bone in her body, she didn’t want to know. But it’s too far. She’s been falling for too long, and she knows there’s no way she survives this. This was it. There was nothing to be done now, she had already jumped. And with nothing left to do, she closes her eyes tighter, bracing for the inevitable impact.

And then she hits the ground, her legs immediately giving out beneath her, and she falls back against the surface with a thunk.

Oh Hell...

She groans painfully, wincing as she finally pries her eyes open, looking up at her surroundings.

Well, she wasn’t dead, which she was going to take as a positive. But she was , however, in excruciating pain, and it takes her a moment to regen enough before she can prop herself into a sitting position. She groans, wincing again as her hand moves to cradle her throbbing head, the pain in the rest of her body very slowly beginning to dissipate with each passing second.

She glances upwards, looking towards the form of the Piglins still stood atop the bridge, the creatures both out of firing range as well as unwilling to chase after her. The fall had been quite a drop, much farther than should have been physically possible to survive. And yet here she was. How?

And then she remembers the boots. She glances down to see the purple glow emanating from the armour, and she stoops closer to inspect them. She smiles.

Feather Falling.

Well that was lucky.

She supposed it was a good thing she had decided to loot the chests. Mind you, she had still missed out on one, but seeing as the boots had allowed her to escape the structure, she wasn’t inclined to complain. But what of the second chest? She had taken all of its contents, but she hadn’t really been bothered to pay attention to what she had actually collected. She had been so focused on finding a sword that once she’d found one, she had completely ignored the rest of the contents. So what else did she have?

She scrounges through the pockets of her jacket, pulling out a few iron nuggets, the gold variations having promptly been lost in her escape from the bastion. There’s a few bits of string, a couple of magma creams, and a single cooked pork chop, which would at least tide her over until she could find some more food, but she finds nothing else.

Until she makes to stand.

She feels something hard brush against her leg, and she glances down to see a single Diamond pickaxe slung through the belt loop of her shorts, the commodity probably managing to get itself stuck there in her escape. She reaches for the object with a grin.

Well, that’s certainly going to come in handy.

Having taken full inventory, she once again makes as if to stand. This was only the beginning, she reminds herself. The Bastion might have been difficult, but this was just the first step in the long journey ahead.

She makes to take a step forward, immediately wincing at the ache in her thighs, and her leg muscles convulse beneath her. She had been doing nothing but run since she had started, and right now, her legs felt like jelly. She promptly sits back down again.

Ya know, I think I’m just gonna stay here for a minute...

Chapter 15: Cubfan135

Notes:

So I did NOT intend for this chapter to be this long, but here we are. This chapter and I are also not particularly friends, it was a bit of a pain to write, but I also don’t really want to look at it any more 😅. A brief warning for people squeamish about boils and burns or fire in general, because there is a bit of that, but no permanent damage and he will be fine.

BOOM!

Cub is immediately blasted backwards as a fireball lands at his feet. He doesn’t even have time to react, the explosion already sending him flying through the air, and he hits the ground hard, landing roughly on his backside.

And then he’s on fire. The orange flames setting his lab coat ablaze as the fire sears through the fabric. He immediately pats himself down, smothering the flames that licked at the outer layers of clothing, the still smouldering material having burnt away just enough to reveal the marred skin of reddish welts and boils that had been left in its wake, already fading into a dull pink.

But it doesn’t stop there. He hadn’t been paying enough attention, the initial blow having caught him completely by surprise, and he hadn’t yet recovered from the original attack before another is already headed his way.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE

A tell-tale screech pierces his ears. Then another. And another. And still lying sprawled upon the ground, Cub looks up just in time to see another fireball headed straight for him.

Cubfan135 was blown up by Ghast.

Ah...that probably wasn’t the best of starts...

He starts again.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

This time when he hears the screech, he hits the floor, more prepared for the ensuing fireballs, and he immediately covers his head with his arms.

BOOM!

The Ghast ball lands just to his left, the ensuing blast creating a sea of flame that erupts from the crash site, and he once again feels the sensation of being on fire. He coughs loudly as the smoke reaches his lungs.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE

A second blast arrives, but he’s too slow, the ball hitting him square in the chest, and he is blasted backwards several feet, hitting the ground with an oomph. He groans.

Right. Lesson one: keep moving.

Another screech pieces his ears, and he makes as if to dodge, but somethings wrong. He had moved to take a step forward, but his foot felt like lead, almost as if his legs were submerged in a thick tar, and the unexpected lack of movement is enough to cause him to lose his balance completely, and he topples forward.

BOOM!

The fireball explodes behind him this time, just far enough away that he had escaped the blast radius, and he pushes his body from the ground, spitting out the mouthful of dirt he had taken from the fall.

It’s now that he really begins to notice his surroundings. He was most definitely in the Nether, if the plethora of Ghasts were any sort of indicator. And it was hot . Uncomfortably so, and Cub was not exactly what one would call a stranger to the heat. After all, he had lived for quite some time in the middle of the desert, roasting under the scorching sun where the blistering swelter had rendered the environment barren to all forms of life except the cactus. But this was different. There was no sun, but this was somehow worse. In fact, he didn’t even particularly see any lava around. The heat was just everywhere, all around him, as if it were emanating from the very air he breathed, and he briefly wonders if this is what it feels like to be boiled in a pot on the stove. A bead of sweat drips from his brow, the single water droplet evaporating into thin air before it can even reach the ground.

But the atmosphere felt wrong. Contrary to the typical image conjured of red fire and brimstone that usually accompanied the Nether, his own environment seemed exactly the opposite. In fact, the overall atmosphere was almost blue, with thick clouds of cyan that hung in the air like a carpet of fog, an almost gentle sort of rain of black ash falling gracefully from the sky, tumbling downward as if a thousand feathers swaying in a breeze. He rakes his fingers through the soil beneath him. The sand felt almost cool, once again contrasting harshly with the scorching calidity of the air, and he wonders if it is in fact actually cold or just by comparison. But it’s thick. The sand felt almost heavy, as if each individual grain were comprised of lead, and his hand almost sinks into the material, drawn downward by some unknown force like a magnetic pull. Soul sand . He must have been in a Soul Sand Valley.

...a Soul Sand Valley.

His head snaps up abruptly.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Crap.

Cubfan135 was blown up by Ghast.

This wasn’t the best news Cub could have received that that particular moment. The Nether in and of itself was not a particularly easy location to navigate. The other biomes of course all had their dangers. Basalt deltas were nothing more than a desolate wasteland of stone and fire, with Magma Cubes around every corner. Crimson forests would spawn all manner of hoglins that were near impossible to take down empty handed, especially considering they tended to spawn in packs or herds or whatever the correct terminology was. Warped forests might have looked pretty, and they were relatively low on the side of hostile creatures considering the dimension of origin, but there was no food there, and even starting in one of those biomes would have been nothing more than an infinite loop of starvation. The Nether itself was just not a nice place to be.

But the Soul Sand Valley was probably the worst of them all. There was no trees or food, and sure it might have been the one location that was relatively lacking in the features the Nether was typically known for, lava for instance, but it more than made up for this fact with mobs. Soul Sand Valleys spawned exclusively 2 different mobs, which in the grand scheme of things might not have seemed like a lot, and really it might not have been too difficult to handle had said mobs been literally anything else. With maybe the exception of the Ender Dragon. Or the Wither. Or maybe some blaze. The point was it was difficult.

Really, it was only the one particular mob that concerned him. Skeletons were not overly difficult, but that could be said with a grain of salt. They were one of the few Overworld type mobs that could attack from a distance, but even then, they didn’t deal too much damage. But Ghasts, on the other hand, were more than a little bit annoying. Particularly when they tended to rain fireballs from the heavens as if intent on bringing about the apocalypse. And they just didn’t go away, especially in Soul Sand Valleys. There was a lot of available spawning space in the Nether, and when only 2 different mobs could spawn, that meant there was an abundance of Ghasts.

The only saving grace with these particular mobs was their health. Two hits of an arrow was all it took to do them in, and Cub happened to be one of the better shots with a bow.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE

A bow, which, as of this moment, he did not possess. He ducks out of the way.

BOOM!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

He cracks his neck, facing the creature this time, and he watches the ball closely as it approaches, counting down the seconds until impact.

Three. Two. One.

He hits it back towards the Ghast.

Cubfan135 has just made the advancement [Return to Sender] .

Cub sighs.

Ping!

The sound of his communicator startles him out of the moment, and he pulls the device from his pocket, looking down at its screen.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Oh no...

Cub leaps to the side, hitting the ground roughly as another fireball whizzes by above him.

BOOM!!

Ping!

Cubs looks at his communicator again.

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Ping!

ZombieCleo fell from a high place.

He blinks.

Dang, looks like everyone’s dying today.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE

Including me, shi-!

BOOM!!

Ping!

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

He shakes his head. He needed to focus. He could deal with the Ghasts easily if he could just get his hands on a bow. He supposed that simply hitting back the fireballs would suffice. After all, their own blasts would kill them with a single blow, but his precision was also much less accurate, and he had significantly less control over an airborne fireball compared to an arrow he could shoot himself.

As if on cue, an arrow descends from above, striking him in the shoulder, and a skeleton appears in his line of vision. He blinks. 

Well, that works.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Ping!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

He ducks as another Ghast ball heads towards him, crouching his way along the ground as he makes his way over to the skeleton, doing his best to avoid the string of arrows headed his way.

BOOM!

The fireball lands just behind him, the blast launching him forward, and he lands at the feet of the skeleton. An arrow strikes him in the back.

Ping!

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Not wasting any time, he immediately climbs to his feet, striking the mob repeatedly as he continued to dodge around the arrows. One hit. Two hits. 4 hits, 5. 8 hits, and then it’s down, falling dramatically to the ground where it’s remains evaporate into a puff of smoke, and he walks forward to claim his prize. 2 arrows, and a couple of bones. But no bow.

Crap.

Ping!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

BOOM!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Cub blinks down at his communicator.

Dang X, you alright there bud?

It wasn’t at all like Xisuma to die so frequently. To an extent, he understood Stress, knowing that she, like him, was stuck in the Nether, having seen the manner of her death. And knowing Stress, her disdain for just the common monsters as well as her general contempt with the dimension as a whole, he had given her a pass. Xisuma, on the other hand, was a different story.

X, of course, was not immune to death, his title of admin did not somehow grant him this privilege. He often fell victim to its clutches, just like the rest of them, but this somehow felt strange. If Xisuma was anything, it was smart, and while he was not immune to the occasional derpiness that came with the loss of their community wide collective brain cell, he often did not make the same mistake twice. And certainly not three times. And for him to die from swimming in lava ? As if he hadn’t been perfectly fine for the entire first half of the game? X could be a derp, yes, but for him to die so frequently in the same manner in such a short frame of time was almost unheard of. Unless his spawn had somehow been destroyed since the start, Cub couldn’t imagine that these deaths had been accidental.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

He tries to hit the blast back towards the creature, but he can’t aim, and the fireball veers to the right.

BOOM!

Ping!

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

He continues on in this fashion for quite some time, continuing to doge around Ghast balls and arrows and generally doing his best to just ignore the constant stream of death messages all together. A task which, given the circumstances, he felt he had been handling rather well.

Until the messages became more frequent.

Ping! Ping!

SCREEEEEEEEEEE

BOOM!

Ping!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Piglin Brute.

Cub dodges an arrow, just barely missing it as it grazes by his arm. This was becoming increasingly more difficult. He had been having a hard enough time dodging Ghast balls and arrows and just staying alive in general. Don’t get him wrong. Given the circumstances, he thought he was actually faring pretty well. He had procured nearly half a stack of bones, 17 arrows, and a few bits of gunpowder. But no bow. And it was becoming increasingly more difficult to concentrate when the constant stream of noise was threatening to drive him insane .

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE

Ping!

BOOM!

This was the soundtrack of his life. Over and over. Stressmonster was slain, Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

SCREEEEEEEEE

Ping!

BOOM!

He dodges another blast before he spots another skeleton, and he makes his way over towards it.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEE

Ping!

BOOM!!

SCREEEEEEEEEE

He once again tries to hit back the blast. It once again veers off course.

BOOM!

He hits the skeleton, once, twice, failing to dodge an arrow that lodges itself into his shoulder blade, and he winces. Three times. Four.

Just a few more...

The Skeleton topples, vanishing into the air, and it finally, finally , drops a bow. He grins widely.

Oh you’re in trouble now.

He bends down to grab the weapon, immediately stringing an arrow through the nocking point, and in one swift movement he pulls up and shoots.

The arrow strikes the Ghast square between the eyes, and it lets out a wail of rage, its mouth glowing red as if poised to throw another fireball, but Cub is too quick. He’s already restrung another arrow, and then it’s flying through the air, it too hitting its mark, and the Ghast collapses sideways, disappearing in a puff of smoke. He cracks his neck.

Right. Lets have some fun.

He fires a string of arrows left and right, taking out Ghasts and Skeletons alike in a flurry of movement with all the speed and skill of a master archer. This was so much better than hitting back the dang fireballs. He had so much more control over his arrows, and eventually he has cleared the area of all but one Ghast.

He holds the bow in his hands, knocking another arrow. He breathes in, staring straight up the shaft as he aims towards the beast. This was it. This was the last one, and while this in no way would stop them from spawning, he might at least cover a bit of distance before he had to deal with them again. He breathes out.

I swear to god, I swear to god, I swear to god...

Three. Two. One—

Ping!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

He releases the arrow, but it’s too late. His concentration had been lost, and the arrow flies wildly off course.

Shit.

BOOM!!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Cub sighs. He goes to reach for another arrow, but his hand grabs blindly at the air. He was out of ammo.

“Oh come on.”

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

BOOM!

The blast hits him in the chest, and he is knocked backwards as his lab coat once again catches on fire. He groans.

Right. Nope. We’re done with this.

He ducks out of the way of another incoming Ghast ball, and then he starts to dig down, plonking himself in the hole before covering up the exit. He hears the explosion go off somewhere above him, muffled by the layer of sand above his head, but then it stops, and there is silence.

Finally .

He collapses to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall in exhaustion. He immediately submerges his hands into the gravely floor, allowing them to sink into the material as they are drawn downwards, and he sighs deeply as the cool grains of sand begin to sooth his burns and welts. Logically speaking, he knew it wouldn’t actually heal them. Soul sand did not have any generic healing properties, but the coolish feel is enough to cause the pain to subside, even if only for a moment, and it would at least mean that his wait for regeneration would not be one of overly discomfort. He waits a moment longer before pulling his hands from the ground, now boil and welt free, perfectly healed and pristine as if the skin in fact had never been disturbed. 

The cave felt much cooler than the above terrain, and he rests his cheek against the wall, the cool sand slowly drawing the heat from his flushed skin. He breathes deeply. The air smelled odd. Almost musty. Like the sodden dirt after a rain storm, but then, that was ridiculous. There was no water in the Nether, and he ponders upon the qualities of the sand that caused it to defy its home dimension.

He should have been relatively safe here. Neither mob that spawned within this particular biome could move blocks, and provided that a skeleton didn’t spawn in his little makeshift cave, he figured he would be relatively safe underground.

Ping!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Cub looks at his communicator. He hadn’t seen a death message from Stress in a while, not that he had been paying overly much attention while being bombarded with Ghasts and arrows, but he hoped that this lack of messages had somehow meant she had gotten out of immediate danger. But Xisuma had persisted throughout.

Now that he had a moment to think, Cub goes back through Xisuma’s messages. It was always the same. Always to lava. Never a mob or any other form of mechanic. Just lava. But the time intervals had changed. The messages had still been relatively close together, but there were gaps. Stress had died three times here before X had made his regular rounds, but down lower Xisuma had died twice before her. If he were to pull out a stopwatch, he didn’t think he would see any particular pattern. Not that he had a stopwatch to pull out, but the lack of pattern was enough to suggest a delay. Stress had been slain by a Piglin Brute, which meant she was likely running, or at the very least moving when it had killed her. This was enough to account for the delay there, after all fighting mobs could be unpredictable.

But Xisuma had died to lava. Just lava. Repeatedly. The delay here was enough to suggest that he at least wasn’t stuck in some death loop - he must have still had at least a block to spawn on, but if he had been pushed in by a mob, surly at least one of his death messages would be different. But they hadn’t been. It was just lava. The delay had ruled out the death loop, and the singular brand of death message had ruled out the involvement of mobs. Which left only one suggestion: he had been jumping into lava on purpose.

Ping!

Xisuma tried to swim in lava.

Cub looks at the message.

X, what are you up to?

Chapter 16: Rendog

Unlike most people, Ren was not particularly worried about his starting location. He knew he hadn’t started in the worst spot, not by a long shot. Sure the End was cold, and vast, and was just generally an uncomfortable environment to be in, but his particular starting point was in no way uninhabitable. There was plenty of chorus fruit, so he at least wouldn’t starve. Sure, there might not have been any trees, and by extension wood, which meant he wouldn’t be able to craft any tools, and yeah, maybe he did have a bit of a habit of accidentally looking at the Enderman, but he himself had spawned relatively close to a fairly sizeable End City, which meant there would at least be some loot. And shulkers meant shulker boxes, provided of course he could get back to the Overworld to procure a crafting table. Really, there was enough supplies that he should have been golden. He wasn’t worried about his current location.

It was leaving that concerned him.

Logically speaking, he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. In order to find the rest of his friends, he was going to need to leave the End, or else risk having a long wait ahead of him as the rest of the Hermits geared up for the trip over. And that could take a while. But even then, he would still need to return to the main island eventually, he didn’t suppose people would find him as easily if he was off in the middle of nowhere. And Cleo was there, probably starving half to death again due to the lack of food that didn’t grow on her island - he’d made sure to stock up on extra chorus fruit for the trip over. But the dragon was concerning.

He stares through the small gateway of a portal in front of him. A large confinement of stars packed into a small, singular space, and their light suspended there as if trapped within its confines, as if the very portal itself were some kind of reverse black hole. He looks to the void around him, the infinite blackness that stretched on for all eternity, and then back to the portal. Or maybe he was already in one, the gateway merely his window as he stared up from its depths to the cosmos above, and beyond he would find a billion galaxies of swirling stars and comets that would stretch infinitely across all space and time. The image before him is both beautiful and haunting, and he twists his ender pearl around nervously in his hand.

It wasn’t the lack of gear that concerned him. He had finished looting the city ages ago, finding all sorts of useful gear and tools within their walls, and he had spent the last half an hour simply scrounging together some chorus fruit for the journey. He knew Cleo was there now, and he knew she would have literally nothing. No armour, no weapons, no food. Honestly, he was much better off.

The problem was death. Even fully geared up, there was no guarantee he would be safe. Dragon fights were vastly unpredictable, and he knew that even the strongest of warriors with enchanted armour and a full arsenal of weapons at their disposal were not safe. The Dragon had taken out much more fearsome prey than he, but dying at this stage in the game could be fatal. Not in the literal sense, but if he were to die to the dragon now, he would be sent straight back to spawn, which he supposed wasn’t overly far, considering the portal, but there was no guarantee he would be able to salvage his things if he got unlucky with procuring another ender pearl.

He takes a breath, staring down into the glassy depths of starlight before him. It was now or never he supposed. He had put off the journey for long enough, and with a flick of his wrist he tosses the pearl into the gateway.

zoOop!

He lands in the main End chamber, being sure to bend his knees as he touches down, and then there is silence.

“Cleo?”

There’s no answer. He climbs the makeshift stone steps of the chamber where he finally emerges to the surface of the main island. It was so...quiet. He glances upwards towards the obsidian pillars, now just large empty towers of nearly unbreakable stone. The crystals were gone.

An enderman walks past, and he quickly lowers his gaze. He grabs for his communicator. He hadn’t seen any dragon related advancements cross his screen, but he also didn’t particularly see the beast in view. Cleo would have gotten an achievement if she had slain the creature before he got there, so it must still be alive. But then where was-

“Get DOWN!!!”

A force like a freight train ploughs into his back, and he crashes towards the ground roughly, his chest making contact with the hard stone floor mere seconds before a purple fireball wizzes by just inches above his head.

The weight against him is removed a second later, and he feels someone stand behind him. He turns just enough to see the form of Cleo, hair looking very much akin to that of a tangled mess of a lions mane, and the woman panting heavily with exertion.

“Well don’t just sit there!! RUN!!”

Ren didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly scrambles to his feet, and before long he is running right alongside her, the dragon following close after.

“So what’s the plan, chief?”

“We’re doing it!”

“Ok, and what is it exactly that we’re doing?” The dragon growls loudly from somewhere in behind them.

“ RUNNING !”

“...Care to elaborate a little?” The dragon lets out another screech, louder this time, and far more angry than the last. Ren gulps. “Or ya know, maybe just the Cole’s Notes version?”

“Just keep moving! Aside from that, the plan mostly involves not dying.”

The dragon releases a spray of purple fire, and Cleo quickly knocks him out of the way of the ongoing blast. Ren falls to the ground a few feet from the portal, and the dragon heads for the centre. “Good plan. Not dying is good. We like that plan.”

Not wasting a single second, Cleo quickly follows after the beast, chasing it to where it had come to nest, where she begins to positively wail on it.

Ren blinks, looking on at the odd sight before him. “...are you punching the dragon to death right now, my dude?”

Cleo grunts, continuing to get in as many hits as she could. “Don’t exactly have literally any tools.”

“Oh! I’ve got a sword in an ender chest! I can just-“

“NO!! Don’t move!” Ren freezes mid movement, looking towards the woman quizzically. “Don’t you dare place anything this close to the centre! She’ll have it destroyed in seconds. We can’t afford to lose any resources!”

“So, what, you’re just going to punch it to death?”

Cleo swiftly dodges a bought of purple flame in a flurry of movement, performing the maneuver with the grace and agility of a practiced assassin, despite the reality that Cleo herself had never particularly studied any sort of refined martial art. “YES!”

“ Wicked. ”

Cleo grunts again, resuming her punching technique as the dragon continues to flap wildly above her. “Yeah yeah, we get it, Cleo’s a badass. You could help you know!”

“ You told me not to move! ”

But Ren doesn’t get the chance. Because 2 seconds later, the dragon has taken off into the sky once again, and Cleo swiftly jumps out of the way, much less gracefully this time, and plows rather unceremoniously into his sitting form, knocking them both back to the ground.

Cleo shifts mere moments later, pushing herself from him, and moving into a sitting position a few feet away. She groans, wincing in pain as she rubs the back of her neck with her hand, as if the movement will remove the stiffness from her aching limbs. The dragon flies off into the distance.

“What can I do?”

Cleo sighs dejectedly. “Help me distract her? If we both run in opposite directions, it might confuse her, and make it more difficult for her to aim.”

Ren nods. “Right. Distraction. I can do that.” He climbs to his feet, wiping the dust from his jeans as he does, before offering her a hand.

“When she comes for the centre, we run for it. Just camp on her until she flies away, and then—”, Cleo takes his hand.

“And then we run like Hell.”

Chapter 17: ZombieCleo

Cleo had never formed a clear opinion on Rendog. The two didn’t particularly speak, and although she had been around him before, the pair didn’t particularly interact much. They had been on opposite sides of the Civil War, and she knew his name had been on the ghost ship prank that was meant for her. But still, that had all been in good fun, and she hadn’t blamed Ren for any of that. After all, she was the one that had provoked him, not the other way around. But other than that, the two just really...didn’t interact much.

And yet Cleo didn’t think she could have physically been happier to see this man.

“Oh my god , I have never been so happy to see a human being in my life.” She says sometime later, the dragon having been defeated, and the pair finally having the time for a moments rest. She collapses against the side of an obsidian pillar, allowing her head to lean back against the hard surface as she catches her breath.

“Likewise. Well, er, relatively speaking.” Ren looks over at her, cocking his head to the side as if trying to decide on a form of phrase. “Uh, zombie? Wight? Individual? Being?”

Cleo waves him off. “Good enough.”

“Right.” Ren leans over, bending his legs as he rests his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. “Aw man, that was insane my dude. I mean, I’ve fought the dragon before, but that was intense .”

Cleo merely groans in response, sliding down the side of the pillar so as to sit on the ground, resting her arms on her knees. “I. Never. Want to go. To the End. Again .”

Ren looks across at the relatively barren landscape before them. “Yeah, this really wasn’t the best starting location if I’m honest.”

“Ya think?”

The pair remain silent for a moment, simply allowing themselves to breathe, before Cleo speaks again.

“So, where did you start?”

“On one of the outer islands.” Ren replies, walking towards the obsidian tower where he lowers himself to the ground, joining her at her side. “There was nothing around but chorus fruit and Endermen, and I figured I’d need some supplies for when I got back to the main island and had to fight the dragon, but there was an End City relatively close by so I did some raiding, but you kind of beat me to the dragon bit.”

Cleo laughs. “Yes, well, maybe I should have waited a bit longer. Would have had a lot easier of a time with an extra person.”

“I dunno man, you seemed to manage just fine on your own. What I don’t get is how you managed to destroy all of those crystals without blowing up.”

“That-“ Cleo pauses. “Is kind of a long story.

“Well,” Ren shifts his body to the side so that he is properly facing her. “Seeing as how we are both pretty exhausted and probably won’t be leaving for a while,” he smiles, “I’ve got plenty of time.”

And so the two sat and exchanged their tales of woe, recounting the events that had occurred up until that point, and discussing their future course of action as they planned where they would go from there.

“So, what now? Do we just...stay here?”

Cleo sits up. “Well, I thought that originally, but after all that, I really would just like to get as far from this place as possible. Would be nice to get some tools set up. Maybe find a bed.” Her stomach growls loudly, and she covers it with her hand. “Also, I don’t know about you, but I am starving .”

Ren smiles lightly. “Fair. What if someone comes to the End looking for us?”

“Hmm, well, we could just dig the shape of an arrow pointing to the portal. Think that’ll do it?”

“Worth a shot.”

Cleo stands.

“Say, Cleo?” Ren calls.

“Yeah?”

“It’s nothing, I was just wondering...”

“Spit it out.”

Ren shifts beside her. “Well you know how usually when people leave the End it brings them back to their spawn in the Overworld?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I was just thinking.” He scratches the back of his neck. “We both started in the End, right?”

“Right.”

“Which means we don’t have a spawn in the Overworld,” Cleo hums “and hypothetically going through the portal to leave the End shouldn’t bring us back to our spawn in the End, right?”

“I suppose...”

“Soo...where do we spawn.”

Cleo raises an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve got an idea.”

Ren nods. “Yes. Well, no. I mean maybe? It’s just a theory really. I can’t prove anything, and obviously I don’t know for sure, and really I could be completely wrong and this probably sounds so completely stupid and-“

“Ren.”

“Right! So, normally going through the End Portal from this side takes you back to the world spawn or wherever you’ve set it in the Overworld, but neither of us should have any sort of spawn there, if I’m correct, and I mean there’s really only one way to tell for sure, but assuming I am, I may have developed a slight hypothesis.”

Cleo blinks. Ren continues.

“While I was still on the outer islands, I may have gotten to a bit of thinking, ya know back before we defeated the dragon and all; and that was mighty impressive by the way I still don’t know how you managed to take out all those crystals by yourself with literally nothing, and how you used the caged crystals to get the iron bars and then used them to take out the others, and you had literally nothing but some enderpearls and that was super smart and I totally would have had zero idea what to do, and like the fact that you literally punched the dragon to death was freaking epic and-“

“ Ren .”

“Anyway! We don’t have a spawn set in the Overworld, but a dimension portal is still a dimension portal, right? Just because we don’t have a spawn set there doesn’t mean that the portal will stop being a portal.”

“I mean...sure?”

Ren continues. “If neither of us have a spawn in the Overworld, but the portal is still a portal, then going through it will create a bit of a paradox, but my theory is that it will probably try to stick to it’s code as much as physically possible. Meaning it will most likely try to send us to a spot in the Overworld that is as close as it can get to our spawn in the End.”

Cleo blinks, processing this explanation in her brain. “...You think it’ll take us to the end portal room of a Stronghold?”

Ren shrugs. “I dunno, maybe. Like I said, I can’t really prove anything, it’s just a theory.”

Cleo hums. “I mean, it’s a good theory, but I suppose there’s really only one way to find out. But if you’re right, and this really does send us to a Stronghold, who’s to say we’ll be sent to the same one? I mean there’s Strongholds all over the Overworld.”

Ren thinks. “Hmm, well, why don’t we decide on a set of coordinates? I mean, the portal could do nothing, but if it really sends us to different locations, we need a way of finding each other again.”

Cleo nods. “Right. Why don’t we say....0,0?? Simple, easy to remember. If we get separated, just go to the coordinates and we’ll wait there. And if nothing happens,” she glances dejectedly off in the vague direction of her starting chamber “well, I suppose you’ll know where to find me.”

Ren nods. “Sounds good. And who knows? If we really are sent to different Strongholds, maybe we’ll even run into some other Hermits along the way.”

And that’s when it dawns on her.

“Joe’s in a Stronghold.” Cleo says in a voice just above a whisper. Ren looks over at her. “He died to a Silverfish back when you were killed by that Shulker Bullet.” She explains. She pauses, hardly daring to think of the connotations of this discovery. “Do you think...”

Ren shrugs, nodding his head. “I mean, it’s definitely a possibility. Stronghold’s are pretty rare.”

“Yeah, but there’s still more than one of them. What are the odds that either of us spawn in the same one he’s in?”

“No idea, but it won’t hurt to do a sweep of it when we get there will it? Besides, you’ve got lots of enderpearl’s, right? We know his relative location, so if he’s not there we’ll just make some eye of ender and have them lead us to the next Stronghold.”

Cleo nods, moving to stand once again. “Right. Let’s do this then.”

“Oh yeah! That reminds me! I’ve got something for you!” Ren climbs to his feet as well, rummaging around in his pockets.

Cleo cocks her head to the side. “Oh?”

“Firstly!” He produces a handful of chorus fruit from the depths of his jacket and presents them to her. “These were for you. I saw that you starved to death, and I figured that there probably wasn’t any food, so I stopped on the way to collect some, so here.” She blinks, staring at the offered fruit before reaching forward to take them. “Just, ya know, be careful. Cause, you know, chorus fruit. Not the best, but it’s better than nothing right?”

Cleo was inclined to agree. She raises the fruit to her lips where she proceeds to take a large bite. Immediately she is teleported several feet away, but it had at least refilled some of her hunger. She does this several more times, continuing to port from place to place, before her hunger is finally satiated.

She had never been so happy to see a chorus fruit.

“Secondly!” Ren plonks down a single black chest on the ground in front of him as Cleo approaches once more. He rummages through it’s contents for a moment, as if extracting items, before producing a regular brown chest from its depths. He places this directly beside the other and immediately begins to put something inside, before stepping back and gesturing to the object with both hands. “Look at all this loot!”

Cleo approaches the brown chest curiously, peering inside.

And her jaw just about hits the floor. He hadn’t been kidding. It’s contents were positively full of loot.

13 iron, 7 gold, 5 diamonds, 1 Elytra, a brewing stand, a couple of health potions, 2 Diamond pickaxes, a Diamond sword, as well as a full set of enchanted Diamond armour plus an extra helmet and pair of boots, as well as an assortment of enchanted iron armour and 28 Shulker shells.

“I also got a couple of beetroot seeds and pretty much gutted the place of ladders, because resources are pretty slim out here. Figured we could use them to just dig up and climb straight out of whatever cave we spawn in next. Took the chests and a few end rods too. Oh, and the item frame. Can never have too much stuff, you know?” He scratches the back of his head, almost sheepishly. “The silk pick has curse of vanishing, which kind of sucks, but the sword’s got Looting II and mending, and I figured we could split the armour between us, and then we’d both be pretty well protected.”

Cleo blinks up at the man before her. “You had full Diamond armour and you didn’t wear any of it for the trip over here why ?”

Ren scratches his head sheepishly. “Well, um, ya know, I was just being cautious. Dragon fights just...don’t usually go well for me. I figured we’d save the good gear in case, ya know, death.”

“Alright, alright, fair.” She reaches into the chest, immediately taking the spare helmet and boots and equipping them instantly, but she pauses at the remaining loot. There wasn’t enough spare for a full set of Diamond armour, and the things were Ren’s by right, she didn’t want to impose.

Ren steps forward, procuring his own helmet and boots, and looking at the remaining loot as if sensing her dilemma. “You take the chestplate, I’ll take the pants?”

Cleo nods. “Sounds good.” She takes the Diamond chestplate from the box, securing it around her back, before taking a set of iron leggings to complete her armour. “You take the sword, but I wouldn’t mind one of the picks.”

“Done. And here.” He tosses two diamonds onto the floor.

Rendog had just earned the achievement [Diamonds to You!].

ZombieCleo has just earned the achievement [DIAMONDS!].

Cleo looks at him quizzically. “For a sword.” He explains. “Ya know, once you find some wood and all.”

Cleo nods, pocketing the diamonds before fiddling with the straps of her armour. Ren looks back into the chest.

“What about the Elytra?”

Cleo shakes her head. “You take it. I’ve never been much of a flyer if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Ren scratches the back of his head. “Why don’t we keep it safe for now? It’s not like we have any rockets anyway, and we probably won’t be doing much flying if we’re stuck in a cave.”

“True. Let’s keep it safe for now, we don’t want to die and lose it. And who knows, maybe we’ll run into Grian. It might be a nice surprise for him.”

Ren nods his agreement. “Where do you think he started?”

“Grian? Who knows. But with his penchant for flying like a maniac probably somewhere cramped and dark where it’s impossible to fly. I mean, not that he can without an Elytra anyway, but it’s probably some place that’s just enough to remind him. Make him miss it. Mountains? Or somewhere underground maybe?”

“Well that narrows it down.”

Cleo shrugs.

“Alright, now let’s get the Hell out of here.” She moves to walk towards the portal, but is stopped when Ren steps in front of her. She’s about to question him when he speaks.

“I do actually have one more thing for you.”

She stops, looking at the man in front of her. He had already shared with her his tools, his food, his resources, his Diamond armour. What else could he possibly want to give her?

“And what’s that?”

Ren reaches behind his back for a moment before bringing his hand back around, in the palm of which now sat a large, black dragon head. He holds the item out for her to take. “I figured you might want this.”

Cleo decides that she likes Rendog.

Notes:

So I did debate having them be stuck in the End, but I had plans for both of them later that required them to be in the Overworld, and I didn’t fancy cutting any later scenes, so this was the best excuse I could come up with 😅

Chapter 18: Grian

It’s dark. That is the first thing that he notices. Was that it was bloody dark . Grian blinks rapidly, as if to clear his eyes, but the darkness remains. He tries to squint his eyes, straining to see even a tiny glimpse of his surroundings, but to no avail - he can’t see anything.

“Hello?” He calls. There is no reply. “Is anyone there?” He tries again. The only response is his own distorted voice echoing back at him in the darkness. He hears a sound like the dripping of water, and a second later something wet lands on the top of his head.

He takes a step forward in the darkness, his foot crunching loudly as his shoe scuffs the ground. He can hear the echo of a single pebble as it stumbles across the floor, the object rolling away from him in a sort of skipping clatter of sound, and then there is silence again.

Grian reaches his arms out in front of him, shuffling his feet along the floor as he feels about blindly. A second later, his hand brushes against something cool, and he runs his fingertips along the surface, trying to distinguish the object.

The object felt like stone. Damp stone. He wouldn’t have gone as far as to say it felt wet, there were no obvious water droplets that clung to its surface, but it was by no means dry either. Almost like the very stone had absorbed the moisture in the air, like a sort of solid sponge, and he wonders if it would indeed be wet if he were to break it open and look inside. He runs his hand further along the surface. A wall of cold, damp stone that for all he knew carried on for miles. He must have been underground.

He takes a few steps forwards, running his hand along the length of the wall as he does, before the smooth stone beneath his fingers is interrupted by an unfamiliar texture. He stops. He moves his other hand to grasp at the new material.

Was that wood?

He runs his hand along the frame, up the wall, over his head, and down the other side. And that’s when he realizes.

Grian was in a mineshaft.

He had walked forward only a few steps more when suddenly he stops once again. He had heard something. The slightest noise had sounded directly in front of him, one that was so faint that he was almost sure he had imagined it, but it was one that had sounded distinctly like a set of wheels on a track. He blindly reaches a hand towards the supposed source of the sound, and then he feels it.

Metal. His fingers had touched something hard and distinctly metallic, and his hand surges forward to get more clarity. It was a minecart.

A minecart with a chest .

Well that was lucky.

He feels up the side, looking for the lid of the box, before propping it open and rummaging around inside. Again, he feels around blindly at it’s contents, and he picks up each item individually as he examines them.

The first thing he had grabbed had felt a bit like a large rock. It didn’t have the right texture to be a Diamond, and it wasn’t elongated enough to be iron, which leads him to believe that the object must have been coal.

Ok, that’s not the end of the world. Coal could be useful.

The second item felt longer, more ovular in nature, and he brings his second hand in for more clarity. He squeezes it between his fingers, the object producing a distinctive crunch, and he raises the item towards his nose, inhaling deeply.

Yep. Bread.

Bread was also not terrible. At least, not at this particular moment. At least he would have some food.

The third item was small, and round. There were several of these small, pebble like objects within the confines of the chest, and he scoops them up in the palm of his hand, rolling the objects between his fingers as if they were a bunch of very small marbles. Maybe some form of seeds?

The chest itself hadn’t contained anything that would particularly be classified as “valuable”, but there was one thing left that was quite possibly the most useful item within the box of non-treasures.

5 torches.

5 torches were going to be his saviour. He had only been on the map for a few minutes and the darkness was already starting to drive him crazy. He kneels towards the floor, his hand brushing aside a series of loose rocks and pebbles as he blindly scours the ground for a bit of flint. These 5 torches were going to be his salvation.

Or his downfall.

His hand closes around a pair of elongated stones, shoving them into his pocket as he reaches for the handle of a torch. And without thinking much about repercussions, he jabs the wooden end into ground to hold it steady.

This had been a bad move.

Immediately the ground gives out beneath his feet, the wooden end of the torch slipping from his grasp, and then he’s falling. Down, down, down into the abyss of black. The only thing that had probably saved him from taking too much fall damage was the gravel beneath his feet that had fallen with him. 

And then it stops.

Almost immediately he erupts into a loud fit of coughing. The disturbed gravel had left a trail of debris in its wake, and he coughs loudly as a layer of dust comes to coat the inside of his throat. He shoves his face into the crook of his arm.

He waits a moment, allowing both the dust and his coughing to settle before reaching for another torch, once again shoving its base into the loose gravel of the floor. He pulls the stones from his pocket, holding them over the object, and he knocks them together, a single spark shooting forward, and then the torch is set alight. He tosses the stones aside, grabbing hold of the base of the torch, and pulling it from the ground. He holds the light aloft.

The darkness hadn’t particularly concealed overly much of a view, if he was honest. He was surrounded on all sides by walls of stone, the light from his torch casting the room in a sort of dull, orangey glow, and the flames danced playfully upon their greyish walls.

He looks down. He now stood at the bottom of a pit, having unintentionally triggered the collapse of the floor, and the fall had left him coated in a layer of gravel. He combs his fingers through his shagged mess of hair, and several pebbles clatter to the floor. A few feet away, he spots the base of his lost torch, and he retrieves it.

He looks up. The fall was a lot further than he initially realized, much too far to reasonably climb out without digging himself a staircase, and he can only just manage to make out the shape of the mineshaft above him.

Almost on instinct, his hand reaches towards his hip, making as if to produce one of the many rockets that were always in his possession, but his hand merely closes around the empty air. He pauses, as if confused, and his hand flies to grasp at his back mere moments later. He finds nothing save the material of his shirt, and his eyes grow wide with the realization.

No Elytra.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

Sighing, he moves to collect the gravel scattered about the room, fashioning himself a pillar, before using it to scaffold back to the top.

Only, he doesn’t get that far.

He was only a few feet from the top when he suddenly hears a quiet hiss, and he spots the familiar green all too late.

“No!”

He covers his head with his arms, but it’s too late. The Creeper has already exploded, and the ensuing blast is enough to knock him from the top of his pillar, sending him once again spiralling down into the pit.

Grian fell from a high place.

Not wasting any time, he immediately runs towards the pit again, jumping down to his half destroyed pillar where he proceeds to lower himself the rest of the way down, collecting his things.

I mean, at least I didn’t have to go far.

He tries to scaffold up again, but the explosion had destroyed his blocks, and he no longer has enough to reach the top. In fact, he still had about halfway to go. He sighs, realizing the connotations of this knowledge, and he glares at the stone structure of the wall before reluctantly starting to punch it by hand.

Punching stone was not exactly what one would call fun. It took a lot of time, it didn’t drop anything, and the overall motion just made his knuckles ache. And Grian wasn’t particularly known for his stunning patience. If only he’d found a pickaxe...

He looks up to see the wooden support beams of the mineshaft, perfectly untouched and laying just beyond his reach. He sighs.

You know, if I was smart I’d have taken the wood first...

Chapter 19: GoodTimesWithScar

It hadn’t taken Scar overly long to find land. He’d camped for a single night in the middle of the Ocean, having used up the remainder of his blocks to build another dirt shack of a shelter in order to escape from the phantoms, but aside from that, he had only been swimming for the length of about a day and a half before he’d come across his first sighting of solid terrain.

He emerges from the water, his sopping wet clothes dripping heavily as he pulls his body onto the shore, and he collapses to the ground, lying spread-eagled on the sand as he looks up at the sky above him.

Land. Sweet land.

He takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of solid ground beneath him. His limbs felt much heavier now, having gotten used to the sort of weightless floating that the Ocean provided. Or maybe weightless wasn’t quite the right word. He knew his mass did not just disappear with the addition of water, but he was more...buoyant. Less inclined by gravity. And the flow of his limb movements were much more fluid in the water compared to on land. But now, he just felt heavy, if not a little light headed. Several days in the Ocean had allowed the sea to become thoroughly acquainted with him, and now, he felt more than a little bit waterlogged.

He feels the squelch of water around his wet socks and he grimaces, inclining his head just enough to stare down at the sodden form of his boots. The wetness hadn’t particularly bothered him when he was, well, in the water . Not when he had been fully submerged and the uniformness of the liquid around him was enough so that he just didn’t really notice the feeling. But on dry land, it was more than a little uncomfortable.

He sits up, slipping his jacket from his shoulders, and reaching down to undo the laces of his boots. A gush of water sloshes from within as he slips the articles from his feet, and his socks hit the ground with a wet sort of whap as  they too are tossed aside.

He immediately buries his feet in the sand, feeling the individual grains between his toes as they flex and burrow themselves deeper. There’s a sort of primal feeling about the action, and yet there’s an heir of innocence there too. Like a small child playing on the beach, sculpting and moulding away at the sand just to witness its destruction when it is inevitably squashed in a running jump of giggles. There’s something freeing about its feel, and he can’t help but smile at the action.

A warm breeze ruffles through his damp hair, and he angles his face towards the sky. This was nice, he thinks, the sun beating down upon him as it’s rays warm his cold skin. The waves crash softly upon the shore, and he sighs, allowing a sense of calm to fill his being.

Ping!

He frowns, the loud sound disturbing the quiet peacefulness of the atmosphere, and he fishes his communicator from his pocket with a groan. The device emerges decidedly un-waterlogged, a drastic contrast to his still dripping form. In fact, it was perfectly dry, as if preserved by some unknown magic, and the gadget itself appeared perfectly pristine, as if it had never been in the water at all. He looks at the screen.

BdoubleO100 was slain by Elder Guardian using magic.

Ah...right...

He was there for a reason, he reminded himself. He was just there to get some resources. Some wood, some saplings, maybe a stack or so of dirt, and then home. Bdubs could only do so much without tools, and he was counting on Scar to come back with resources.

That, and Scar was sure Bdubs was more than a little tired of fighting Guardians with his fists. And when the mans spawn was set under water, he could only imagine what it must have been like to have to re-navigate the entire Monument every time he died. He had only just barely managed to escape the first time, and so long as the structure remained full of water, that meant that Guardians would only continue to spawn, making it that much more difficult for poor Bdubs.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Elder Guardian using magic.

Maybe I’ll invest in a bed too...

He reluctantly pulls himself from the sand with a sigh, gathering his discarded articles in his arms as he climbs to his feet. There were a few trees close by, so there wasn’t really a pressing need to put them on again, it wasn’t like he planned on going very far. And the articles were still sopping wet. He might as well leave them to dry in the sun while he went about his work, even if there was only half a day of sunlight left.

He discards the articles on the edge of the beach before approaching the first tree in his line of sight.

GoodTimesWithScar has just earned the achievement [Getting Wood].

GoodTimesWithScar has just earned the achievement [Benchmaking].

He figured that would be enough to inform Bdubs of his progress. At least he’d managed a crafting table, and two more logs would provide him with a wooden pickaxe, which in theory should have been all he needed. Of course, he was going to collect the saplings as well. There was no sense returning without at least a basic means of reproducing trees, they would only wind up in the same position as they were now.

Wood was generally useful for a lot of reasons. Planks, sticks, tools, torches, weapons - It was a staple in most basic crafting recipes, and survival without it was almost impossible. But Scar, being the person he was, wanted it for an additional reason: Building.

Scar, as was established, was a master builder. A master builder who, among other things, was known for his proficiency in two very distinct forms of specialty: terraforming and custom trees - He tended to go through a lot of wood.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Elder Guardian using magic.

He finishes chopping down the first tree before placing his crafting table, fashioning himself a wooden pickaxe from the materials gathered.

GoodTimesWithScar has just earned the achievement [Time to Mine!]

Not wasting any time, he immediately begins to dig downward, displacing the layers of dirt until he reaches the stone beneath.

GoodTimesWithScar has just made the advancement [Stone Age].

Now we’re talking.

Now that he had stone, he had access to a significantly better set of tools. Stone was marginally faster and significantly more durable that wood, and stone tools would ultimately mean less crafting for him in the long run compared to their wooden counterparts. Even so, not wanting to be wasteful, he chips away until his measly wooden pickaxe has run out, and he returns to the surface with almost a full stack of cobblestone.

GoodTimesWithScar has just earned the achievement [Getting an Upgrade].

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Elder Guardian using magic.

“I know, I hear ya bud.”

He fashions himself a stone axe, and then he gets back to work, approaching the next oak tree as he continues his quest for resources.

He continues on in this fashion for some time, collecting logs and saplings, even managing a few seeds before the sun begins to dip along the horizon. He had set up a basic campsite along the beach, digging himself a little hobbit hole of a shelter into the side of a nearby hill, and a roaring bonfire now blazed just outside its door. The structure was nothing fancy, merely a hollowed hole in the ground, but it was a decided upgrade from the dirt shacks of which he had constructed previously.

He’d come across a few animals throughout the day as well. A few chickens, a couple cows, even some sheep which had provided him with enough wool for a single bed. Not that he would be able to skip the night anyway, but even a single night of sleep would at least keep the Phantoms off of his tail for a few days, and the meat was enough to satiate his growing hunger, at least for the time being.

He sits on the ground, reclined against the still warm sand, and he watches the glowing orange of the sun as it’s swallowed into the depths of the Ocean. Sunsets were a relatively rare occurrence on their particular server, Bdubs was a very avid sleeper, and he tended to jump for a bed the second the sun showed any indication of going down. Scar didn’t really blame him, per say. After all, night brought with it all sorts of hostile monsters that he would be just as happy to avoid, and he knew how much Bdubs loved his sleep. This did tend to mean, however, that the other Hermits very rarely got to witness a proper sunset.

He sees the first faded stars peek their way across the swirling purple of the dusk sky. There would be no night skipping this early in the game, not when so many Hermits were without a bed, and indeed many were still in a dimension were the action was not possible. This would undoubtedly become a problem later, but as of this moment, he wasn’t complaining. He could worry about it some other night, but right now, he was going to enjoy his sunset. He sighs contentedly.

You know, maybe there’s a perk to this arrangement after all...

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Guardian using magic.

Scar grins.

Just couldn’t let me enjoy my sunset, could you...

He laughs lightly, shaking his head. He somehow thought that last one had been on purpose.

Chapter 20: Cubfan135

Notes:

So, this chapter was not planned for at all, but here we are 😅

Cub had been faring pretty well, all things considered. He had given up trying to navigate above ground, there were way too many Ghasts and Skeletons for that, and when the vast expanse of soul sand made it particularly difficult to dodge, or even move in general, he’d decided he’d had enough. Not that he could particularly escape the soul sand, at least not until he somehow found a way out of the biome, but he would at least be safe from the mobs beneath the surface.

He had been progressing through the use of an underground tunnel system. Although system was a bit of an elaborate term, because it was in fact just the one tunnel. An extremely long tunnel, mind you, but still just the one tunnel. And progress had been slow. Soul sand was not exactly the fastest sort of terrain to travel on, and the digging tended to take a lot of his time, but all things considered he’d actually managed to make it a fair distance from spawn.

The trick was not to take any damage, he’d discovered this the hard way after dying of starvation halfway up his current tunnel. He had been hit by Ghasts before his initial decent underground, which meant that he’d expended a great deal of energy in order to heal his wounds. And once your energy had been even slightly depleted, that was when the hunger started to kick in, and with no food available in this particular biome, death by starvation was inevitable.

Being in a biome filled with mobs that hurled explosives, the only way to really guarantee safety was to be underground. And the only way to avoid taking any sort of damage at all was to start there. Meaning he had needed to manipulate his spawn so that he started in a pit at least 3 blocks down. That, or he would need to construct a sort of shelter around the spot, but seeing as he would need to be underground anyway, he had opted for the first alternative.

It had taken him a few tries to get the positioning just right. He’d first needed to take note of the coordinates of his original hole, and then he’d needed to die so that he could find his spawn - a simple enough process. After that, all he’d needed to do was dig down and connect his spawn with the existing tunnel. Easy.

At least, that was the plan. And it was a good plan, in theory. But in practice? Not so much.

He had gotten as far as dying to find his spawn before things had gone south. The second he had reappeared above ground he had been blasted backwards by a Ghast ball, and then immediately following had been blasted by three more. He had spent a solid 5 minutes failing miserably at dodging and hitting back Ghast balls before he’d managed to kill at least two of them, and then another expertly aimed ball of fire had done him in from a third.

At that point, it was probably for the best. He’d moved around too much during the fight, and he could no longer tell which direction he had come or which spot he had spawned on, which was the entire point of this excursion. He supposed dying was more of a blessing in disguise.

The second time round he had actually managed to dig the hole, only to have a skeleton wander over the edge two seconds later. And being trapped in a pit with the mob was not a particularly pleasant experience. The chest full of arrows was only marginally less painful than a direct hit from a Ghast, but the single Skeleton had only managed to slay him once before he could respawn and dispose of it.

With this event came both good news and bad news. The good news was that he had managed to move his spawn underground, and with that, he would no longer need to worry about Ghasts blowing him up every time he died. But the bad news?

After all of that, did you think he could remember the coordinates of the tunnel?

He had tried simply digging his surroundings, but when that had failed, he had needed to go above ground, hoping to find the original hole via crash site. This had also proved a difficult task. He had been shot at by a lot of Ghasts, and the above terrain looked much like a half exploded minefield of craters and fire. And when fire in the Nether tended to burn infinitely, it wasn’t as if he could check to see which craters had been more recent than others.

He had, of course, found the entrance eventually. After much wandering, he had stumbled upon the tunnel when a Ghast had inadvertently blown up the ground, revealing the original hole he had dug what felt like so long ago now. If he hadn’t already been searching for it, he might have almost considered the discovery more of an accident, but as it was, he felt it was more sheer dumb luck that had led him there.

But then, this had been hours ago. As it stood, he was no longer anywhere near his original starting point. Now, after much struggling and hours of walking, he once again found himself beneath the ground, trudging along quietly in the solitude that was his tunnel. He can hear the crunch of sand beneath his feet as his boots sink into the grains, the faint crackle of fire a sort of muted ambience of sound that could be heard somewhere off in the distance as he continues to walk along.

He continues to dig forward, parting the expanse of sand with his hands as the grains become lodged beneath his fingernails, the skin around the area now caked with the substance. His lab coat had not faired much better, the white fabric having now been stained with patches of a dull sort of brown where the material had come into contact with the dirt. He supposed white was maybe not the best sort of colour had he hoped to maintain any semblance of cleanliness, but he also supposed that this maybe wasn’t a uniquely Nether type problem.

He sighs, brushing the dirt from his hands onto the sides of his lab coat, only contributing more to its current state of mess. He was bored. Digging a straight tunnel for hours was not exactly what he would have referred to as fun. He would poke his head above the surface every kilometre or so, looking for any signs of distant biomes or anything else that might otherwise be of use, but aside from that, he had no means of entertainment. He was alone out here, with no one to talk to. And when he was constantly moving, it wasn’t as if he could just plop down a jukebox and listen to some music to pass the time.

Not that he particularly had a jukebox to place. Or much of anything really. After connecting the tunnel with his spawn, he had taken the time to procure another bow, his first batch of items having long since despawned. The time it had taken him to procure the weapon was enough to secure him about half a stack of arrows and almost a full stack of bones, but aside from that, he had nothing. And in order to survive properly, he was going to need things.

His top priority had to be food. He had been faring alright thus far, but his entire success up until this point had been owed to the fact that he wasn’t hungry. And the only reason he wasn’t hungry was because he was being very  conservative with his energy. He couldn’t run, jump, or take damage of any kind, and while his current method of transportation had served him well up until this point, progress was bloody  slow, and there was no way he would be able to survive like this indefinitely. He would need some form of sustenance should he hope to make any real progress above ground.

His second priority would need to be armour. More specifically, a single piece of golden armour. Any golden armour. Again, he had been lucky in the fact that Piglins didn’t happen spawn in Soul Sand Valley’s, or else he was sure he would have never had a moments rest. But again, he was not going to be in this biome forever, and while Piglin’s didn’t spawn in every biome in the Nether, the likelihood of him coming across one was still high enough to pose a significant threat. And in order to pass by the mobs undetected, he would need a piece of golden armour.

The last thing he was going to need was a sword. He wasn’t overly fussed about finding wood or other tools at this point. If he came across some of the Nether trees he would consider it a bonus, but right now, his top priority was a sword. There were way too many hostile creatures within the Nether to go without one. His bow had served him well, and honestly he would have preferred to use it indefinitely, but with his severely limited number of arrows and otherwise lack of enchantments, he was going to need a weapon for close combat.

He digs forward a couple more feet before once again digging out a block of the ceiling, glancing upwards as he peers out at the terrain beyond. A wall of red brick appears in his line of sight, and he shuffles around his hole as he struggles to get a better view of the structure.

It had to be a Nether Fortress. There was no other explanation. He must have dug almost in a straight line directly towards its base, and he ponders for a moment on the connotations of this discovery.

On the one hand, Nether Fortresses would have a great deal more mobs than the mostly barren terrain of his Soul Sand Valley. Fortresses could spawn Magma Cubes, and Wither Skeletons, and Blaze among other things, and more mobs meant a higher chance of death. But on the other hand, they would also contain loot.

Fortresses would have chests where he could pick up supplies, namely a golden chestplate if he was lucky, and a sword. There was also a relatively small chance of finding obsidian, which was something he was going to need in order to make a portal back to the Overworld. That, and as of this moment, that structure was the only thing that housed a potential source of food within his biome - Zombified Piglins. Rotten flesh was very obviously not the best of sources for food, but as of right now, it was also his only option - he wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky.

He looks back down the tunnel towards his spawn which had long since passed from sight. Entering the Fortress would be dangerous, and if he were to die now, it would be an awfully long journey back again. But he also didn’t particularly have anything to lose. The only thing he particularly cared about was his bow, but even then, that could always be replaced. He had nothing of value, and thus didn’t particularly have anything to lose. Did he go in and risk the painfully long journey back in the event of death? Or did he play it safe, continuing his tunnel beneath the ground in the hopes that he would eventually come across something better?

He looks at the Nether Fortress, then back down his tunnel, to his bow in his hand, and then back to the Fortress. He cracks his knuckles.

Screw it. Let’s do this.

Chapter 21: Stressmonster101

Notes:

Time skip? Sort of? Not really, but maybe just a little bit.

Stress had been trudging onwards for what felt like forever. She could have been walking for hours, days, weeks, she really couldn’t say. She had no concept of time in the Nether, but she was tired .

Stress, herself, was a relatively fit human being. She participated in bouts of daily yoga, she often did a standard set of exercises in the morning, and if it was really nice out, she might even go outside for a jog. Nothing overly strenuous, mind. She didn’t do any real weight lifting or significant body building, but that did not mean she was any less physically active, and years of mining had definitely given her a more substantial muscle mass than the average person.

But she was bloody tired . Her muscles were sore, her feet ached, and really she would have liked nothing more than to sit down and rest, but she forces herself forward. The Nether was not the place for rest, although she herself was probably in one of the safer biomes. Well, safe for the Nether that is, but that did not mean she was any less on edge.

After much wandering, Stress now found herself in the heart of a Warped Forest, trudging along beneath the canopies of what she could almost imagine to be ordinary trees. If she didn’t think about it too much, she could almost imagine she was back in the Overworld, casually taking an afternoon stroll beneath the canopied forest, brushing the ferns and overgrowth as she passed. The birds would be chirping happily from above, and maybe a few foxes would be scampering away in the underbrush. She could almost picture the sunlight as it streamed through the boughs, bathing its surroundings in its golden glow. She can almost hear the soft rustle of leaves as they are blown about in the wind. Can almost feel the warm breeze against her cheeks as it combs through her hair.

Almost .

But she knew better. There were no animals here. No birds, no sunlight, and certainly no breeze. In fact, the forest was eerily quiet, without even the slightest rustle of leaves to disturb the silence. Not even the solitary squawk of a lonely crow. It felt...wrong. Disturbing. Like there was a predator lurking around every corner waiting to pounce. As if she expected the vines to come alive and attack her, but they don’t. In fact, everything is still, as if the very terrain were simply carved in stone. Frozen as if suspended in time, neither alive nor dead, but simply there, unable to move or grow or even die. It was like walking through a wax museum of figurines posed in mid action sequence, and the entire biome was the diorama. She walks beneath the canopy of a large warped tree, glancing upwards at its twisting branches warily.

The trees didn’t look natural. Their gnarled bark was warped and splotched, as if it’s skin had been half peeled away by disease, only to have grown back to create its spotted mess of an overlapping husk. The bark itself looked dry and brittle, and she might have almost described it as dead had it not been for the glowing sap that flowed through its cracks like blood through veins. The purple ooze pulsed beneath its surface as it flowed like a poison through its bloodstream, pumping the strange fluent throughout its limbs as they extended in a twisting mess of branches that drooped and curved inwards; like a twisted hand poised to rip out its own heart. The trees looked sick, diseased, and yet frozen as if paralyzed. Suspended in their current state of near death as if enchanted, lying in wait for their spell to be broken as they sat unmoving in the silence of the petrified forest.

Her feet let out a squelch of sound as she trods onwards. The ground felt odd, almost soft, squishy, as if covered in a layer of wet mulch, and it dips under her weight with each step with a sort of springing bounce. The entire environment felt alien, merely a poor attempt at mimicry, as if it had a mind of its own. Like the biome itself had tried its best to look hospitable, using its very limited knowledge on the Overworld and its inhabitants to construct its current terrain. Maybe it had been made with the intent of being inviting. Comforting. Beautiful even. But the similarity only makes it seem haunting, a stark reminder that she was very clearly not in Kansas anymore.

An Enderman teleports in front of her and she jumps. Logically speaking, she knew she didn’t technically have anything to be afraid of here. The only mob that could spawn within the Warped Forest was the Enderman, and so long as she kept her eyes on the floor, she should be able to avoid any confrontations with them. But they were absolutely everywhere. All over the biome. Teleporting behind her and groaning in her ear, bringing with them a dreadful chill as if the very life had been sucked from the air, and sending wracks of goosebumps trailing up her spine.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Actually, she didn’t mind when she spotted the Enderman all that much. It was when she couldn’t see them that she became concerned. In a biome that was otherwise completely silent, Enderman made a lot of noise. But it wasn’t their groaning that bothered her. Or the constant teleportation. Or even the chill.

It was the footsteps.

The footsteps were going to drive her mad. She didn’t mind so much when she could see their source, even if she knew roughly where they were coming from. But when those footsteps were all she could hear, without another mob in sight, it was downright terrifying. Like there were ghosts all around her, watching her every move. Playing mind games with their haunting and taunting that threatened to drive her mad. She knew nothing would hurt her. She knew . And yet the suspense was almost worse , the ghostly footsteps having her teetering on the edge of insanity, jumping at every noise or even the tiniest hint of movement, waiting for that inevitable strike that she was so sure was going to come. To say she was on edge was quite frankly a bit of a understatement.

She’s walking past a large warped tree when it happens.

Out of nowhere, an arrow descends from above, flying through the air to where it lodges itself in her left shoulder. Stress doubles over in pain, stumbling backwards several steps at the sudden blow. She doesn’t even have the wits about her to register the fact that arrows should in fact not be striking her within this particular biome, barely even having the time to overcome the shock of the blow before she catches the glint of a golden sword out of the corner of her eye.

And then something is rushing towards her.

“NO!!” Stress shrieks, immediately moving to cover her face with her arms, the attack finally driving her growing state of anxiety into a full out panic. It couldn’t end like this! She had come so far! Whatever this was would surly kill her and then she would be back to square one. And she didn’t even want to think about how she was going to deal with those Piglins again. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the impact.

Only, nothing happens. She waits for a moment. One beat. Two beats. Three.

And then she hears a familiar voice.

“...Stress?”

Stress opens her eyes, uncovering her face from behind her hands, and turning to look towards the man in front of her.

“...Cub?”

“ Stress ! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even recognize you!”

She looks up at Cub, the man lowering his sword with a look of concern on his face. He pushes the blade through his belt loop before slowly striding towards her, hands out in front of him as if approaching a frightened cat.

Stress blinks.

“Cub, what the Hell ?! You scared the life out of me!! ”

“I know! I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t even know it was you! I just saw the gold sword and thought you were a Piglin!”

Stress huffs. “Firstly, rude . Second, you’ve got gold armour ya geezer, why are you even attacking the Piglins, they’re neutral!”

“I know, but they drop loot, and my armour was getting low...” he scratches the back of his head sheepishly before softly adding “was also hoping it would drop literally anything to eat...”

Stress shakes her head as if to clear it, finally having overcome the shock of the sudden encounter. She looks towards the man before her and then out towards the expanse of trees. She blinks.

“Wait, don’t Piglins like, not spawn in Warped Forests? I thought theys could only spawn in the crimson one and the Nether Wastes.”

A beat.

“...oh.” Cub looks at the ground. “I forgot...Hunger must be getting to me.”

Her expression softens, glancing towards him with a knowing look.

“What’s your hunger at?”

He shrugs. “Bit less than half. Soul Sand Valleys aren’t exactly rich in the food department.”

“Were yous in a soul sand valley? That’s ‘orrible! How did you make it out alive?!”

“I mean, I may have died a few times.” Cub smiles. “But nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Well that’s cryptic, ain’t it?” Stress raises an eyebrow. “Do I get to know details?”

Cubs stomach growls loudly.

“Ah...maybe?”

Stress chuckles lightly. “Alright, alright. Lunch first. Or...dinner...? Breakfast..? Blimey, don’t know what time it is anymore.” She reaches into her pocket, producing a miniature sized crafting table the size of a small paper weight, the object hovering just a few inches above the palm of her hand. She closes her eyes, concentrating hard on the object, and with a wave of her hand the object grows, swelling until it has become its proper size, and she places the crafting bench on the ground. She rummages around in her pockets again before turning to him. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any bonemeal, do you?”

Cub actually laughs. “You kidding? Bonemeal is a thing of which we currently have a surplus.” He reaches into his own pockets, producing a handful of bones, before handing them to her.

“Gorgeous.”

She takes the bones, immediately crushing them into its powdered form. He’s about to ask what she’s doing when she produces a brown mushroom from the depths of her pockets, planting it on the ground in front of her, and sprinkling the crushed bone atop its cap. He watches as the fungus sprouts upwards, growing bigger and bigger until it is almost the size of the many trees within the biome. Stress smiles.

“Hope you’re fine with mushroom stew, because mushrooms are literally the only thing I have.”

His stomach growls again.

“Honestly, mushroom stew sounds amazing right about now.”

Stress tosses him a red mushroom, and he catches it. “Good. Help me harvest some more?”

He nods, planting the given object into the ground and sprinkling the top with bonemeal. He glances over at Stress as he waits for it to grow, the woman currently working on chopping down the stem of her own mushroom, arms extended high above her as she stretches to reach the top. Almost immediately, his gaze is drawn towards her abdomen, catching the stained red of fabric around the left side of her stomach, her jacket torn and very obviously bloodied around the area.

“You’re hurt.”

“Eh?” Stress pauses her movements, glancing over at him before following his gaze. “Oh, you mean this here?” Her hand moves over her stomach, lightly touching the ripped fabric of clothing over the place she had been hit by the Piglin so long ago. The faded red of the now-dried blood stood out prominently against the white material of her shirt, and she supposed the sight did, in fact, look worse than it actually was. She shakes her head. “Nah, that’s old. Brute nicked me, is all.” She uses her fingers to spread the ripped crease apart, revealing the pale skin of her stomach beneath. “See? All healed up now. Shame about the clothes though, I liked this shirt.” She looks over at Cub and grins. “‘Sides, looks like you got some of your own.”

Cub holds up his arms, the frayed cuffs of his own coat dangling loosely in strips of fabrics. “Yeah. Blaze got me here. Found a Nether Fortress a while back and thought I could find some equipment.” He approaches his now fully grown mushroom, beginning to chop down its stem. “I mean, I did , so I suppose the trip was a partial success, but guess I wasn’t as careful as I should have been and, well, yeah.” He looks at the wisps of material again. “Hard to heal when you don’t have enough hunger. Got a few bits of rotten flesh from some Zombified Piglins, but not the best sources of nourishment, ya know?”

Stress hums, reaching down to collect an armful of mushrooms before bringing them towards the crafting table, setting them down on its surface. “You got some more red mushrooms?”

“Yeah.” He reaches down, tossing her a few before finishing his work. She catches the objects expertly, adding them to her already established pile of mushrooms, before using some spare wood to craft a few bowls. She supposed the one advantage to the Warped Forest biome was its surplus of trees.

She dices the mushrooms, throwing several handfuls into each dish before taking hold of a single basin, grasping it between each hand. She once again closes her eyes, focusing her energy on the bowl in front of her, and mutters over the object. Her tongue wraps around the galactic words as she speaks, the bowl growing warm in her hands, and then it’s done.

She opens her eyes to reveal a perfectly made stew, a string of hot steam protruding from the basin, and she smiles as she holds the bowl aloft. “Voila. One mushroom stew.”

Cub takes the food gratefully, immediately lifting the bowl to his lips and he gulps down its contents. He places the empty bowl back on the table as Stress works over another, and thats when he notices a certain something lodged in the shoulder of her jacket.

“Uh...you’ve got a little...” Cub makes a vague sort of gesture to his shoulder blade. Stress looks down towards her own shoulder, discovering the arrow still lodged in the material of her jacket.

“Oh!” The commodity didn’t hurt anymore. In fact she’d completely forgotten it was there, the area around the wound simply having gone numb. She must have forgotten to remove it. She reaches upwards, grasping the shaft of the arrow and pulls it out, the object immediately vanishing from her hand. “There we go. All gone.”

“Uh, yep, all gone. We should go soon.” Cub immediately turns, striding away from her at a speed that was just fast enough to be suspicious. Stress cocks her head to the side, confused.

Until she sees the bow slung over his back.

Stress stops, realization finally dawning on her.

“Hang on, you just shot me, didn’t you?”

Chapter 22: FalseSymmetry

Notes:

I apologize to False in advance, because she is probably going to experience the most trauma in the long run.

False was a person who had a lot of agency. She was an amazing builder, she was more than an adequate flyer, and she was a PVP God . If there was anything False was known for, it was her skill with a blade. Or a bow. Or any weapon at all really. She had a deadly accuracy, and she had garnered more than a little bit of a reputation for her proficiency at, well, killing things - The other Hermits knew that she was not to be trifled with. But another thing about False?

She couldn’t resist a challenge.

She had always been one of the more competitive Hermits. Anyone with eyes could have told you as much. She enjoyed mini-games and competitions and she revelled at the thrill of adrenaline that came with being immersed in any sort of challenging task. When the idea for the game had been presented, she’d immediately jumped at the opportunity. Find the other Hermits? With no chat communication? And no single person sleep? Whilst starting in the worst possible location?

Sounds like fun.

The problem with this particular game was that she hadn’t actually given much thought to where it would place her. She had considered a few generic locations obviously - Desert, Ocean, Mesa - places that would be difficult for anyone. But she wasn’t just anyone. As was established, False had a lot of agency. And while she had maybe thought of some of the more difficult spots, she had failed to consider the one place that would arguably be the worst possible location for her over all others.

The Nether Roof.

The thing about False was that she liked company. She was constantly involved in team events, and she tended to spend a lot of time simply chatting with the other Hermits. Don’t get her wrong, she enjoyed the odd quiet moment to herself, and there were definitely times when her extensive projects kept her from seeing the light of day. It wasn’t uncommon for her to simply disappear for weeks at a time as she holed herself away, digging giant holes to bedrock or otherwise creating massive structures that demanded all of her attention.

But she did like her company. She liked being involved in things. She liked to be busy . She was always working on various projects or collaborating with the others, and so long as she maintained this lifestyle of active engagement, False was happy. But the thing about the Nether Roof?

There was none of that here.

She was literally stuck on a seemingly endless sheet of solid bedrock. No food, no resources, no people . And no way of leaving. Bedrock couldn’t be broken by traditional means, at least, not without some serious TNT pistonry magic. Not that she knew how the trick worked anyway, even if she did have the proper tools. But as it stood, she had nothing, and no way of changing that. There were no Hermits to interact with, no projects to distract her. There was physically nothing she could do except wait for someone to look for her. She was trapped. But the worst part?

It was so bloody quiet.

She couldn’t remember ever being in a state of such complete silence. There had just always been sound. At least some form of sound. The hum of the lights, the howl of the wind, the creak of the floorboards. There was always something . But now there was nothing. She taps her foot against the floor, the touch creating a resounding echo of a boom that reverberates through the air and then dissipates into nothing.

Well, at least I can still make sound.

Silence was a bit of a funny thing. It was something that a lot of people craved. It was said to increase concentration, productivity, and sense of calm, among other things. There were hundreds of articles that spoke of the many benefits of silence. But complete silence?

That was a different story.

Complete silence was know to drive you mad. People became disoriented, even prone to hallucinations. The longest a person had ever lasted in complete silence was a grand total of 45 minutes, and while her own space was maybe not completely sound absorbent, she somehow had a feeling she was going to be stuck there for a LOT longer than 45 minutes.

Ok. No big deal. I’ll just have to make sure there isn’t complete silence.

She could do that, right? If she could still make sound, then all she had to do was fill the silence every so often and she should be able to keep from going insane. That would work right?

She clears her throat. “Hello?” The single word echos back at her. “Testing...1, 2, 3...”

She shakes her head. This wasn’t going to work. If she was concerned about going mad through silence, she was definitely sure that  talking to herself wasn’t going to help any. She hums. 

What else can I do...

She is silent for a moment, contemplating, before an idea pops into her head.

What’s that song the Stranger Things kid always sings...

“Uh...” She clears her throat. “... should I stay or should I go now ...?” She stops, the sung phrase echoing back at her in the silence, and she shifts awkwardly. She clears her throat again. “ ...should I stay or should I go now...?” She looks out across the barren wasteland that was the Nether Roof. “...If I go there will be trouble...if I stay it will be double... ”

Nope. That wasn’t happening. She sighs.

What other songs do I know...

She’d been wandering for some time when she hears it.

“ NO !!”

False stops dead in her tracks, startled by the sudden sound. Thus far, she hadn’t heard a single noise aside from her own voice echoing back into the nothingness, and the sudden voice had startled her enough to make her jump back several feet. But that had sounded like-

“Stress?”

She doesn’t hear anything for a moment more, and then-

“Cub, what the Hell ?! ”

Cub? Cub was there too?

“Stress!” She yells, looking around wildly, but she sees nothing. Only the barren landscape before her.

“ I know! I’m sorry!”

That was Cubs voice this time, quieter than the first shout she had heard, but there was no mistaking it. That was definitely Cubs voice.

Directly below her.

“Cub! Stress!”

She gets on the floor, crawling onto her stomach as she puts her ear directly against the bedrock.

“ I know, but they drop loot, and my armour was getting low. ”

Their voices sounded muffled through the sheet of bedrock and quite possibly the several layers of netherrack on the opposing side, but that was undoubtedly them.

“CUB! STRESS! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

“What’s your hunger at?”

“Bit less than half. Soul Sand Valleys aren’t exactly rich in the food department.”

They couldn’t hear her. Why couldn’t they hear her? What was going on? They were hardly raising their voices, and she could hear them just fine. So what was going on? Was it some weird Nether mechanic? She listens on.

“You’re hurt.”

Hurt? Stress was hurt? How? Was she ok?

“Nah, that’s old. Brute nicked me, is all.”

False sighs. Old. Old is fine. Stress is fine. Everything is fine.

False sits up, pulling her ear from the ground. This was so strange. If this was just some weird mechanic, it was certainly one she’d never heard of before. What sort of mechanic allowed sound to be projected from below to above but not the other way around? Unless...

She looks down towards the bedrock.

...Unless it wasn’t a mechanic.

She immediately climbs to her feet, putting as much distance between her head and the rock as possible. She needed to test something, and in order to do that, she was going to need to block out the other voices. She allows her gaze to roam the vastness of nothing for a fraction of a second before freezing in place, holding her body as still as possible and closing her eyes. She breathes deeply, concentrating hard as she focuses entirely on her hearing.

dundun...Dundun...DunDun...DUnDUn...!

...her heartbeat. That was her heartbeat. She could hear it hammering in her ears, louder and louder, steadily increasing in volume the longer she concentrated on it. But it was strange. She didn’t feel any different. In fact, the beat itself felt steady, normal. Slow even. Like a resting pace. But it was loud . Almost deafening. She couldn’t remember ever hearing her own heart quite so prominently, like she had just run a marathon. But then, it wasn’t like she had even walked very far. Granted, Stress’s initial shout had given her a bit of a start, but the beating wasn’t fast or erratic like she was scared, and in fact she didn’t feel frightened in the least. It was just kind of...normal. She vaguely hears Stress mumble something through the bedrock, and she concentrates harder.

Breathe in...and out...in...and out...in-

Her eyes snap open, her heart suddenly beating much faster than it had a second ago.

Her lungs . She had heard her lungs . Expanding and contracting with each breath as they filled with air like some sort of fleshy ballon. She had heard of this happening. When people were immersed in total silence, their ears tended to adjust to minuscule sounds. It was said that people could hear their own organs working, shifting inside of you. Every beat of the heart, every gurgle of the stomach, every breath of air. She had heard of the phenomenon, but to actually experience it was something entirely different. She looks down at the bedrock beneath her, eyes wide.

This wasn’t some mechanic. This was her . This place. The silence was already starting to get to her. She had been immersed in it for long enough that her ears were starting to adjust. She could hear them because their voices were otherwise the only thing that broke the complete and utter silence that was the Nether Roof. They , on the other hand...

She quickly climbs back onto the floor, putting her ear up against the stone.

“-ll gone. We should leave soon.”

“NO! I’M HERE! CUB, STRESS, I’M HERE!” She bangs on the floor with her fists, trying to make as much sound as possible. But it’s no use, they can’t hear her. She gets no response, only her own voice echoing back at her into the endless void.

Notes:

Ok, so I know that this semi-scientific explanation is only PARTIALLY correct, but this is Minecraft and I can bend the rules of reality if I want 😅

Chapter 23: BdoubleO100

Notes:

I apologize for the long delay between chapters. It is currently finals season and I have been tackling a billion assignments and exams, but I should be done very soon, and hopefully I will have more time to write within the next couple of weeks. In the meantime: BDUBS!!

Build a base , he said. It’ll be fun , he said. 

Bdubs was going to kick Scars ass.

It had taken him only a couple of days to take out the remaining two Elder Guardians in order to free the Monument from their reign - a seemingly inconsiderable amount of time, really, considering the task at hand. He had already know the location of one, having stumbled upon it during his initial attempt at escape, but location was only half of the battle ahead.

After having finally escaped the winding halls of the Monument the first time, Bdubs was none too keen to re-enter the sunken structure, and he definitely wasn’t looking forward to the string of inevitable deaths that were sure to follow this task. Respawn might have still been a thing, but that did not mean that dying was any less painful, and drowning was not exactly the quickest way to go. Granted, there were few things that could top the torturous agony of death by lava, but drowning was definitely up there on his list of demise.

The remaining two Elder Guardians would be more difficult than the first. Before, he could simply die and immediately respawn, going straight for it. But now, he would have to make his way through the entire temple in order to get to the correct spot, and then he’d need to actually fight the creature in order to take it out - if he wasn’t killed by the lack of oxygen first. When he could only get in 8 hits before it killed him, with a health of 40, that meant he was going to have to repeat this entire process at least 5 times in a perfect scenario, but with the imminent threat of drowning, he imagined the lack of air might impact his results. Not that he would have a problem reaching the monster, after all he had managed that bit fine the first time round. But if he started taking drowning damage before he got in the full 8 hits, he imagined he might need a bit more than 5 rounds of battle, and that wasn’t even taking into account the infestation of ordinary Guardians he would need to deal with along the way.

And this was just for one of the creatures. He’d still have to find the last one, and god knows how long that would take. Granted, it wasn’t as if the Monument went on forever. There were only so many directions he could go, but when the halls tended to twist and turn this way and that, with circling corridors and passages that lead to nowhere as if trapped in some freaky adaptation of an Escher painting, he tended to get a little, well, lost .

But then again, he supposed he wasn’t the only  one that had gotten lost. Bdubs had seen Scars achievements nearly two days after his initial departure, signifying his discovery of land, but that had been ages ago. He had expected Scar to depart from whatever mass of terrain he had discovered the following morning, which should have seen his return another two days following, but Scar hadn’t shown. Nor the next day. Or the next. In fact, it had been a full week since his initial departure from the Monument - still no sign of Scar.

He should have expected as much, really. Scar was a builder, and Scar liked his materials. He was constantly stocked with ridiculous quantities of resources, if the size of his chest monsters where any sort of indicator, and knowing the relatively limited supply they currently possessed, Bdubs suspected the man would probably take this opportunity to get his hands on absolutely everything he possibly could. Knowing Scar, he really shouldn’t have been surprised.

To a certain extent he understood. Knowing their current predicament, he understood that resources were a particularly valuable commodity at this stage in the game; a commodity they would desperately need if they truly planned to set up base in the middle of the Ocean. But there was only so many things he could possibly fit in his pockets. Inventory space was not infinite, and surly if Scar had been mining this entire time he had to have more than enough resources to fill the slots. So where was he?

Don’t get him wrong, Bdubs had been faring decently thus far. Since slaying the Elder Guardians, he had managed to rid himself of their mining fatigue, which meant he could at least dive down and collect the dirt and sand from the Ocean floor. Some of the Guardians dropped prismarine shards and crystals upon death, which at this stage he could use to craft regular prismarine as well as the brick variant. Even sand could be formed into at least a couple versions of sandstone, which at least provided him with a bit more of a substantial block pallet outside of just sand, gravel, and dirt. All things considered, he actually had some decent looking blocks at his disposal. And he had been using said blocks to do just as Scar had instructed - build a base.

Their first decrepit dirt shack of a shelter had long since been removed, and in its place now stood the foundation of what Bdubs hoped to one day turn into a beautiful prismarine castle. The structure was still in its infancy, mind. There were no winding staircases leading to tall spires or long hallways that stretched on to all corners of the building or really any form of intricate decoration like plants or paintings or carpets. Yet. In fact, at the moment, it was just the one room.

Atop the centre of the Monument, he had constructed the beginnings of what almost looked like an adaptation of a Throne Room, with ordinary Prismarine walls, decorated with prismarine brick pillars and supports, and a simple sandstone flooring. He had built the outline of a doorframe into one of the curved walls, and each of the other three had received the minimalist framework of a throne. Aside from these, the only real decoration that had been done was the startings of a King Arthur esk round table built directly above the centre of the Monument. A structure which, along with the other furniture, remained mostly unfinished, lacking the materials he desired for their complete construction. He had hoped to one day maybe even transform the the roof into a sort of domed glass, creating a sort of glass observatory, but until Scar returned he had no access to any form of smelter, and as it stood the roof had been covered up with whatever materials he had on hand.

He had done the barest minimum of patterning on the floor, carving a circular formation into the centre using an alternating pattern of prismarine bricks and blocks, as well as a few curved lines of the same material tracing the outer walls, but aside from that, there wasn’t much he could do with his severely limited resources. Granted, the current structure was a marked improvement from the last. There was a roof over his head, so at least the Phantoms couldn’t get to him, and it’s general size meant that he could at least walk around. Scar had even left him the few bits of coal and bamboo he had retrieved from his shipwreck, so he at least had access to a few torches for some light. He’d even managed to procure an iron sword and a few mismatched pieces of armour from the zombies that patrolled the grounds at night, the creatures often spawning on the outer platforms on which he had yet to build or light up at all. Really, all things considered, he was faring rather well.

That being said, he really hoped Scar hurried up soon.

He might have had access to more materials than he originally thought, but when his primary building block was prismarine, any form of progress tended to take a while. He first had to slay the Guardians to get the shards, and then he’d needed to craft them into the correct material, and then he’d needed to actually use them for building. And when the material was stone related, with no pickaxe, that meant he had to be extra careful with his placements. Until Scar returned, there was no room for trial and error. Once a block was placed, that was it. It couldn’t be moved. That, and it wasn’t as if he had any form of looting or sharpness enchantments on his various half-worn-out swords he had obtained from various zombies. Guardians were more than a little bit awkward to kill underwater, and even then they weren’t guaranteed to drop the correct loot, if any. Progress was slow, but he supposed even slow progress was still progress. The addition of the swords plus the various pieces of armour he went through at least offered him some protection against the Guardians, and this meant he was at least a little less likely to die when he went to take them out.

But Bdubs was starting to get a little bit restless. He didn’t mind so much during the day when he could work on things that distracted him. But during the night, when he was forced to seek shelter alone under the haphazard roof of his barely started castle, he started to get a bit agitated. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the break - building was a long process and sometimes it was good to sit back and relax for a moment. It’s just that he had always slept through the night. He didn’t even want to deal with the ordinary mobs, let along the damn demon birds that now plagued the dark. It was one of the main reasons he always jumped for a bed the second the sun made an inkling of setting. Sure, he liked his sleep, but when the dark brought with it hoards of mobs that stalked the streets with thoughts of murder, he wasn’t taking any chances. He had always just slept through the chaos.

Which meant that he never had to experience the screams .

He sits with his back against the wall, hands firmly covered over his ears as he does his best to block out the horrible horrible screams . Even through the walls he can hear the hoards of zombies groaning outside of his barricaded door, the sickening hiss of scuttling spiders that scaled the outer walls, the clack of bones of reanimated skeletons that patrolled the grounds until the light of day.

But worst of all was the damn screaming . All night the Phantoms would circle above, as if undead vultures stalking their prey. And their screeches were horrifying , like the screams of the damned released from hell, as if their very bodies were possessed by the lost souls seeking vengeance. He hears the heavy flapping of wings above him, like an Angel of darkness come to take him away, and he presses his hands over his ears more firmly. These weren’t just your run of the mill monsters. This was death. Death had come, and it was here for him. He squints his eyes shut as he tries to block out the sound.

“Go away, go away, go away, go away, g-ahH!” He jumps. The screaming had gotten louder. The creatures all simultaneously scream in pain as they are burnt by the sun, and his hands remain firmly over his ears until the last of their horrible groaning has finally subsided.

He waits a few minutes, giving whatever Creepers might still be about the time to despawn before pulling himself to his feet and trudging tiredly towards the barricaded door. No bed had meant more than just Phantoms. He might not have needed sleep in the traditional sense here, but that did not mean he was any less tired, and the few nights he had already gone through could hardly be qualified as rest.

He breaks down the dirt barricade of a door and steps outside into the morning air. His eyes felt so dry, and the morning sun does nothing to hide the prominent bags now forming beneath them. He reaches upwards with his right hand to rub at his eyes reflexively, his left reaching for the hilt of his sword, and he yawns widely.

Well, back to work.

He really hoped Scar returned soon.

 

Chapter 24: Xisuma

Notes:

In this chapter I use “Zombified Piglin” and “Pigmen” kind of interchangeably because “Zombified Piglin” sounded hella long when used a lot in succession, so just know they are the same thing.

Also warnings for brief mentions of death by lava, but none that occur in this particular chapter.

Xisuma was starting to get a little bit impatient. He could no longer say how long he had been working at his bridge, but he was pretty sure it was safe to say it had felt like a long time.

The bridge itself was now long enough that standing on its end would no longer see the outline of his island, and yet it still felt as if he had made no progress. The magma blocks took 4 magma cream, obtaining which was an insufferably slow process, and corralling the Magma Cubes was more than a bit of a nightmare. It wasn’t as if a lot of them ever spawned, and when there was only so many places he could move, this tended to effect the ones that did , making it harder for them to spot him the farther out they were. He had even resorted to jumping into the lava, hoping the extra bit of distance from the island would allow more of the monsters to notice him, and thus attract them towards the island.

This had sort of worked for a while, but he had given up the method pretty quickly. After all, death by lava was far from pleasant, and while it might not have been the most drawn out death in the grande scheme of things, that short length of contact felt like pure Hell for the couple of seconds it took for the lava to completely disintegrate the skin.

He had been walking the length of the bridge for what felt like the hundredth time when he spots something out of the corner of his eye.

There was a strider off in the distance, the creature mulling about in the lava just beyond his reach. Now, a strider on its own might not have seemed overly out of the ordinary. In fact they were a quite common sight to behold here on his secluded island in the middle of nowhere. 

To be fair, the Nether Wastes was a biome that would arguably spawn the largest variety of mobs of all the Nether variants. He had obviously been making full use of the Magma Cubes in order to build his bridge, and Striders were more than a common enough occurrence in the background. Zombified Piglins were also a common sight upon the island, along with the ordinary Piglins. He had actually lucked out in this department in that the Piglins happened to take damage from the magma blocks, unlike their zombie counterparts, and so long as he stayed upon his bridge, he was relatively safe from their wrath. He had even taken on the odd Ghast before he had the thought to distribute a few magma blocks upon the surface of his island, breaking up any available spawning space for the mobs. Really, the only way he would have had access to more mobs would have been if there was somehow a fortress close by.

No, mobs were not rare, and so the strider on its own was not at all particularly surprising. And indeed, it was not the mob itself that had peeked his interest, despite his love of the creatures.

It was its rider .

Several feet in from of him, he can see the lone Strider, just being able to make out the barest shape of a saddle atop its back. And sitting there? A single Zombified Piglin, fishing rod in hand, and tied to its end was a single warped fungus suspended on a string.

This was it. This was his ticket out of here. If he could get his hands on that strider and the rod, he could just hop aboard and be done with all of this magma bridge nonsense. He could literally just use the Strider to walk right over the lava. He just needed to find a way to get it to come closer to him.

A Zombified Piglin walks passed him on the bridge and his eyes follow it as it goes, darting between it and the other still atop the Strider some several yards away. He sighs.

I really hope there’s no Pigmen close to the others...

And without another thought, he walks up to the pig closest and smacks it on the shoulder.

Immediately the creatures let’s out a squeal of rage, and X does his best to fend it off, backing up along his bridge. But it had done its job. The monsters squeal had alerted the others in the vicinity, and several other Pigmen are now charging towards him along the bridge. He ducks out of the way of an oncoming sword, swiftly hitting the pig in front of him with a sharp uppercut, and he glances out towards the Strider to see-

It wasn’t following him.

Oh come on.

He feels the blade of a sword nick the side of his shoulder and his head immediately swivels back around, zoning back in to the fight at had. Behind the current Pigmen he can see another 3 approaching from behind, golden swords at the ready, and running directly towards him.

He’d just made a Hell zone for himself. A fairly substantial feat, really, considering that he was kind of sort of already in Hell. He’d thought that attacking the other Pigmen would agro the Striders rider, but the creature in question seemed rather unbothered by him. And what’s worse, he now had a small hoard of Pigmen after him, and when he was literally standing on a bridge of hot coals, it wasn’t as if he could just run away; he’d start taking damage.

Although honestly at this point it almost couldn’t hurt. With this many Pigmen after him, he honestly didn’t see how he was going to get out of this one alive anyway. But then, was that..? Did he really see..? He had! The Strider had moved closer towards him. He wrestles with the Pigman, holding the sword at bay, using his foot to kick at the still approaching monsters from behind as he keeps his eye on the form of the strider.

Come on...just a bit further...that’s it, come on...a bit more...there!

He breaks away from the standing Pigman long enough to reach out and whack the one atop the Strider. He gets a jab in the stomach for his efforts, but it had taken the hit. If he could just get it to take a bit more damage...

He hits the frontline Pigman on the bridge and it collapses, keeling over dead as it is immediately replaced by the one behind, and he backs up several steps.

He repeats this process several times, dodging back and forth as the Zombified Piglins continue their assault, biding his time as he continues to wait for the Strider to wander back into range, hitting the Pigman again and again until he gets the final hit.

The rider falls, it’s body collapsing sideways before disappearing in a puff of smoke, and Xisuma leaps, jumping off the edge of the bridge as he makes a desperate grab for the rod before it can be destroyed by the lava below. And for a brief moment it is as if time itself is at a stand still, as if the world is moving in slow motion as the hoard of Pigmen slowly converge upon the spot where he had once stood. And Xisuma is suspended there, hovering mid-air as his fingertips close around the pole of the fishing rod.

And then he is falling. Straight down over nothing but the pool of lava, and for a very brief moment, one that seems to last an eternity, Xisuma is genuinely afraid that he has just lost it all. And with a last ditch effort, he looks up towards the form of the Strider standing mere feet away, and he makes a last desperate reach.

Xisuma has just made the advancement [This boat has legs]

Notes:

So I discovered a thing during a testing period today! Apparently Zombified Piglins have zero control when riding striders, even when agro, and they just kind of wander around aimlessly and will hit you if they happen to wander by but they won’t actually steer the striders towards you. Who knew 😅

Chapter 25: ZombieCleo

Notes:

So, I wrote this chapter before the confirmation of the fact that having a spawn in the End does actually in fact prevent you from ever leaving the End, but I need both of them to be in the Overworld for future plot purposes and I didn’t particularly want to re-write the whole plot, so we just gonna pretend for now that it’s possible for them to actually leave. I might add an in story explanation later, but for now we have this 😅

Joe hadn’t been in her Stronghold. Or Rens. As they had predicted, the pair had been sent to separate structures, and the two had met up at their designated coordinates some several days after their initial departure. Here, they had managed to scrounge together the ingredients for a Nether portal, having then travelled to yet another  dimension where they had managed to procure enough blaze powder to produce at least a couple stacks of ender eyes. They had then used these to locate yet another Stronghold.

Joe hadn’t been there either.

Cleo had know it was a slim chance from the beginning. There was roughly 128 Strongholds that could spawn in any given world, which meant that there was roughly a 1 in 128 chance that the one they picked was the correct location. And they had searched this one top to bottom. No sign of Joe. Cleo sighs.

They hadn’t bothered searching the Nether for its occupants.  Based purely off of death messages and achievements, they knew that at least Cub, Stress, and Xisuma were there, but aside from mere speculation at their biome of origin, the trio could have been anywhere within the dimension. There wasn’t much of a lead to go on.

“Maybe we’ve just walked circles around him or something? It’s possible we’ve just missed him. Maybe we should take another look?” Ren suggests, as if to make her feel better. As if he can somehow sense the hope within her steadily fading away.

Cleo shakes her head. “No. This isn’t the one. Joe’s smart, he would have left some sign that he’d been here.” She sighs dejectedly. “We might as well head up.”

Never one to lose faith, Ren quickly skips along to join her, putting his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry! We’ll find him eventually!” He smiles widely. “It’s not like Strongholds spawn infinitely, and we’ve already knocked 3 off the list. And each Stronghold we knock off just means that the next one has a higher chance of being the right one! We’re winning at this baby!”

She never understood how he always managed to stay so upbeat. Ren was such an overall chill human being. She glances across to see the bright smile across his face, as if the man was perfectly content with life. As if nothing in the world could faze him.

But Cleo had never been that optimistic.

Logically speaking, she knew he had a point. Strongholds didn’t spawn infinitely, and even though the 3 they had already explored had turned out to be duds, that only meant they were closer to finding the right one.

But Cleo was a realist. Joe hadn’t died in quite some time, and just because the last time she had seen his death message it had been to Silverfish, that didn’t necessarily mean he had been in a Stronghold. Silverfish could also spawn in mountains, and even though it was less likely that he were to die to one there, it was still a possibility. Even if Joe had been in a Stronghold, there was no guarantee he was still there now. But as of that moment, that single death to a silverfish was their strongest lead. And thanks to the locational abilities of the eyes of ender, it was a lead that also happened to be trackable.

Provided of course Joe had stayed put.

Cleo sighs.

“Hey.” Cleo turns to see Ren looking over at her, an expression of concern playing upon his normally carefree features, as if he can somehow read her thoughts. “Joe’s smart. Smart enough to not die to a bunch of Silverfish on accident, even it there was like 5 of them or something. He has to know someone would work out his location from that.”

“I dunno. Joe is pretty bad with a sword.” Cleo smiles despite herself. “I’m pretty sure he could find a way to die from a llama.”

Ren smiles. “I suppose it’s a good thing there’s no llamas in a Stronghold then.”

The pair emerge from their cave to a vast desert of sand. From the position of the sun, it appears to be about midday, which wasn’t horrible. They could still travel a fair distance before the sun set, but the desert was vast and large, and neither knew how long it would stretch on for. And the open desert at nightfall was probably the last place anyone wanted to be.

“Where to, chief?”

Cleo reaches into her pocket and produces another eye of ender before throwing it into the sky, the orb immediately taking off due east across the horizon. Cleo shrugs. “Guess we’re going this way.”

“The orbs don’t lie mama!”

“That was wrong on so many levels.”

“Sorry.”

The pair follow after the retreating form of the green eye across the vast expanse of desert. There wasn’t particularly much to collect here aside from sand and the occasional cactus, and of course there was the blistering heat to consider, but that was about it. In fact, the sun was just starting to set on the horizon, and Cleo was about to suggest that they make camp, when she is suddenly interrupted by a loud exclamation from Ren.

“Look!”

Cleo follows his gaze, the man pointing directly ahead of them into the distance. She half hoped to find another Hermit standing there, but what she sees instead is something that makes her almost as happy.

There was a desert village straight ahead.

Which meant there were beds to sleep in. 

Logically speaking, she knew that they wouldn’t be able to skip the night unless everyone else was also in bed, which tended to be made a little problematic when there was multiple people who had spawned in a dimension where it was explosive to sleep. Even then, there was enough people in general that even coordinating with those that were in the Overworld was, for lack of a better term, a bit of a nightmare. And when they couldn’t use their communicators to, well, communicate , night skipping just didn’t happen.

But this didn’t mean they still couldn’t sleep, and the pair had been awake long enough that they both definitely had Phantoms on them. That, and Cleo was more than a little exhausted after the long trek they had made. Ren was faring no better than her.

They enter the village just as night begins to fall, taking an extra minute to light up the area, before splitting off into separate houses and barricading the entrance. There were a few iron golem’s around, and they had probably lit up the area extensively enough to avoid mobs spawning there, but they weren’t taking any chances. All it took was one stray zombie breaking down the door in their sleep and they would be back to square one.

Cleo takes a moment to survey her surroundings. The house she had chosen had been small, with 4 sandstone walls surrounding a single, green bed. Off to the left of the room was what looked to be a set of 2, simple sandstone chairs, placed on either side of an equally simple sandstone table, on the top of which sat what once might have been a potted plant, but it looked to have long since died and turned brown. Aside from the basic furnishings, there was nothing else in the building save a single torch suspended over the doorway, and a small length of sandstone flooring that barely had enough space to be walked upon.

She walks the two steps it takes her to reach the bed, shaking the sand from the outer blanket, before climbing beneath the covers. The sheets feel scratchy against her skin, and she wonders if this is simply the overall material composition, or the more likely account that the gravely desert had simply taken up a more permanent residence in the surrounding furniture. She wouldn’t have particularly described the experience as a comfortable one, but the woman had gone so long without rest that she was almost at the point where she simply didn’t care, and before long she had drifted off to sleep.

She wakes the following morning to find Ren already up, the man currently tilling the fields of one of the village gardens, collecting the fruits of his labour before replanting the crops once again.

“Hey.” She calls, approaching the gardens, stretching her arms above her head.

“Good morning!” Ren replies happily, turning to smile brightly at her as she approached, revealing a smear of dirt across his left cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

Cleo cracks her neck, pulling on her arm until her shoulder produces an audible pop. “Not particularly. How long have you been up?”

Ren shrugs. “Not long. I figured we might as well stock up on food while we’re here. We don’t know for how long the desert continues on.”

“Right. We should probably raid the rest of the village before we leave as well. Get all the supplies we can.”

Ren nods before producing a loaf of bread from the depth of his pocket, tossing her the item. “Here, have some breakfast.” She catches the item, looking at him quizzically. “My house had a chest with some bread and some coal.” He explains.

Cleo nods, taking a bite of the offered food. It was going to be a long day of walking ahead of them, and she was grateful for the sustenance.

They had agreed to split up, tackling the village thematically. Cleo would start at one end, and Ren at the other. They would then converge inwards, sweeping each house in tow, before they would finally meet in the middle. This seemed the best way to ensure there was no house left unturned, and no chest left un-looted.

Overall, there wasn’t too much to be found. Ren had already gathered most of the crops, and the vast quantities of hay bales they had acquired would be a relatively steady supply of bread, which just left the houses to be searched.  Thus far, Cleo had gathered some coal and some more bread, a few pieces of paper, some wheat, and a few sticks, but aside from the odd handful or so of emeralds, there wasn’t particularly anything overly valuable.

Until she stumbles upon a specific house. 

“Ren!”

Ren shows up within seconds, hands hanging on the top of the doorframe as he pokes his head inside the house.

“What’s up, Cleo mama?”

Cleo blinks. “Ok firstly, no . Never say that again. Like ever . Just no .”

“Right, sorry, my bad. What’s up?” He corrects himself.

“Take a look at this guy.”

Ren looks at the villager Cleo had managed to trap inside, the woman in question now smiling brightly as she waits for him to examine her discovery. He frowns.

“...A cartographer?”

“Not just any cartographer. Look at his second trade.” Cleo smiles. “Joe isn’t the only person who we know their rough location.”

Ren examines the villager more closely, paying more attention to his trades. More specifically it’s first tier 2 trade in the list. “...a map?”

“Not just any map.” Cleo huffs in annoyance. “Hold on.” She rummages through her pockets for a moment before producing a fistful of emeralds, handing the gems to the villager, which then proceeds to hand her the map she so desired. “Here.” She holds the paper out for Ren to take.

Of course, objectively speaking, she knew that this plan would have the same problems as their last. Most of the generated structures could spawn anywhere across the world in a vast amount of varying quantities. Realistically, this map could take them to any one of the multitude of structures, and each cartographer only sold the specific map to one of these locations. The fact that this particular villager happened to sell a map to a particular structure could very well have been a moot point, because while it might have carried the map to a structure of interest, that didn’t necessarily mean it carried the map they were looking for. Even still, this had been the first time they had come across a village, and while the odds of this being the correct map were slim, there was a chance . A chance that rekindles the fire of motivation inside of her. Even if it wasn’t the correct structure, it was only one map - they might as well chock it off the list.

“Who do we know that’s been slain by Guardians?” Cleo smiles. “Bdubs is at an Ocean Monument.”

Chapter 26: Grian

Notes:

Not me over here working on literally every other chapter but this one 😅

Rails, rails, torch, redstone.

Worthless .

Grian pushes the mine cart away from himself with a huff, the object clattering backwards along its track to where it eventually comes to a stop, bumping the wall lightly with a soft ting of metal.

He had elected to stay in the mines for the time being, taking the opportunity that spawning underground had presented to do a bit of honest caving. He didn’t particularly see the point of returning to the surface just yet. The supports of the mineshaft had already provided him with the wood needed for the construction of some basic tools, and the multitude of chests had provided enough bread for a general means of sustenance. He’d even managed a few pieces of mismatched armour courtesy of the local zombies, and he’d happened across enough iron to scrounge together the materials for a half decent sword. Really, he was doing quite well for himself here.

Or he would have been if the damn chests would actually give him anything of value.

He had hoped the mineshaft would provide him with a decent assortment of loot, but thus far he had yet to find anything of apparent value. And he had been at this for hours, going through tunnel after tunnel, mine cart after mine cart, and opening chest after chest of junk .

Rails, redstone, torch, redstone , bread, oh look some more redstone. No emeralds, no gold, not a single diamond to be found.

Grian sighs, reaching into his pocket and producing one of the multitude of loaves of bread he now possessed. He wasn’t particularly hungry. Not really anyway. He really just wanted something to do. Anything to break up the monotony of trudging through shaft after shaft of abandoned mine by himself.

He had never liked strip mining. Or mining in general really. It was mindless, and dull, and he really just didn’t have the scrutiny for it. He had the attention span of a goldfish, which was why he tended to have so many projects going on at the same time. Once he got bored with one, he tended to just sort of...move on. He’d leave it and do something else. Anyone that actually watched him work could attest to his general faffery, and the other Hermits were certainly not strangers to his shenanigans and general tomfoolery that went on whenever he grew bored with a task - which was often. But he had his methods, and they worked well enough for him.

But caving was just kind of a lonely task. He knew it was an early starting necessity, but that did not mean he disliked it any less.  He hated being underground, where he felt cut off from the world, from his friends. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t capable . He had definitely done his fair share of mining in the past. But the caves felt stuffy and cramped, and the atmosphere contrasted harshly with his usual lifestyle. Grian had always been a free spirit. It was one of the reasons he liked flying so much.

And another reason why he hated caving. 

He continues forward, ripping off a piece of bread with his teeth. He wrinkles his nose. The bread was hard and stale, almost dusty, as if it had been sitting in storage for half a century. But then, he realized, it probably had. No one had probably been down here in ages, which meant that any long forgotten supplies he happened to come across had been there for a while . He briefly wonders what sort of incident must have occurred in order for the mine to be abandoned so. Tunnel collapse? Rodent infestation? Balrog? Space octopus?!

He opens another chest and frowns.

Or more likely that whoever was here last knew that this mine was bloody empty.

He huffs again, closing the lid of the chest once more. He can hear the tell tale hiss of spiders from somewhere in the vicinity, and he holds his torch aloft, its orange fire illuminating the tunnel with its flickering glow. He cuts down a cobweb from his path and a bat descends from the ceiling, taking off down the tunnel in a flurry of flaps and squeaks, but the passage otherwise looked empty.

He takes a step forward, glancing around the wooden supports of the tunnel, but nothing happens. He sees nothing. He shrugs, taking another step forward.

And a spider lands on his head.

Immediately his arm moves as if to block it, but it’s too late. It had gotten him. He can feel the poison spreading throughout his bloodstream, the skin of his shoulder burning from where the creature had bitten him, and he stumbles forward in a daze. He suddenly felt off balance, disoriented, as if he couldn’t think straight. Poison might not have been able to kill on its own, but it messed with the mind. People grew confused, unsteady, and his head begins to feel fuzzy, as if it were stuffed with cotton. The spider hisses.

He does his best to run forwards, fumbling over his feet every step of the way as he goes, waving his sword wildly in an attempt to hit his attacker. If he could just get his eyes to focus...

Another spider approaches from the side, knocking him into its web and he flails miserably, trying to free himself from the sticky silk as he makes another swipe at the creature. Another spider rounds the corner with a sickening hiss and he kicks out at the creatures with his feet.

Where are all of these spiders coming from?!

He pulls his arm free, bopping a spider on the head with his sword as more continue to approach.

“No!” Bop! “Bad!” Kick. Another three make their way around the corner and he groans. “ Whyyyy?! ” A spider bites his ankle and he slashed it with his sword. “ Leaaaave. ” He fends off another two, stumbling around a corner to where he finally spots their source. A cave spider spawner.

And a whole lot of cave spiders.

Lovely.

He doesn’t waste any time, immediately grabbing hold of his torch and tossing it in the direction of the spawner, the object clattering to the ground directly beside the cage. He just needed them to stop spawning. Cave spiders didn’t have many health points, especially when he was currently wielding an iron sword, but there was so many of them, and he needed them to stop poisoning him long enough to clear his head and focus .

He kills two and pushes back a third, another taking advantage of his divided attention to launch a strike from behind. He winces, immediately spinning around and knocking the spider back with his sword like a club, sending the creature flying across the room. He shakes his head as if to clear it, once again wobbling at the feel of the fresh poison now pumping through his bloodstream.

He backs himself into a corner, hoping the wall will prevent anymore sneak attacks from behind, and he takes out the remaining spiders, one by one, until eventually he has slain them all.

He gives himself a moment to rest, waiting for the remaining poison effects to wear off and his head to clear before taking a deep breath. He looks around the room. There’s a single chest on the far wall, and he smiles excitedly. It was about time he got some good loot. He’d been rummaging through the absolute trash of the mine cart chests for long enough that the prospect of claiming a half decent prize was more than a little exhilarating.

He paces the length of the room, kneeling down and opening the lid of the chest.

His face falls.

“What am I supposed to do with all this redstone?!”

Chapter 27: Cubfan135

Notes:

In which I had zero idea what to write for the entire first half so we have some witchcraft, some astronomy, and Stress is a Druid because I said so 😅

“Alright, I spy with my little eye something that is...green.”

Cub turns towards his companion, raising an eyebrow with a smirk as he watches the woman survey her surroundings. Stress takes a moment to look out across the landscape before responding. “Is it a tree?”

“Yeah.”

Stress grins, clapping her hands gleefully. “Ok, my turn! I spy something that is...” she looks out across the sea of forest, her gaze inevitably landing on one of the twisting trunks with a frown. “Uh...vertically long?”

“Is it me?” Cub offers her a cheeky grin and she chuckles lightly.

“No.”

“Tree.” Cub shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at the horizon once more. “Ok, I spy something that...has...bark...”

“Let me guess, is it another tree?”

“Ah, but which tree is the question.”

“Oh, we gettin’ specific now are we?”

An Enderman teleports in front of them and Stress jumps back several feet with a squeak, the woman immediately looking back over her shoulder as if expecting signs of attackers, but she sees nothing. Only the forest stretching out behind her. She huffs in annoyance. “Ugh. Stop. Doing. That.”

Cub chuckles. “Not one for the Nether, I take it.”

“ No! It’s ‘orrible! Just look at the place, it’s freaking me out Cub!”

Cub raises an eyebrow. “You realize this is like the safest biome here, right?”

“Yeah, but the bloody trees are freaking me out! It ain’t natural! What’s it gotta be so quiet for?”

“ That’s what’s bothering you right now?”

“Well what sort o’ forests you been in that don’t make any sound ‘cept for the moaning of them Endermans and their stupid footsteps that follow you everywhere?” Cub raises an eyebrow. Stress blinks. “I’m jumpy alright? I don’t like things that moan in me ear and jump out and things.”

Cub rakes a hand through his hair. “I just wanna get out of this damn heat, it’s awful.”

“I dunno, I don’t mind it so much.”

Cub blinks. “You mean you’re not dying right now?”

Stress glances over at her companion, a half-amused sort of smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m a Druid luv. Ya know, one with the elements and all that.”

“So what, you just like don’t feel temperature?”

Stress shrugs. “I mean I do, I guess I’m just not really that fussed by it, ya know?”

“Can’t say I relate...”

She throws him an inquisitive look, the pair continuing to trudge onwards through the twisting trees of the Warped Forest. “Didn’t you used to live in a desert or somefing?”

“In a desert, yeah, not in the pits of Hell.” He scuffs his feet along the ground, his shoulders slumping in a tired sort of fashion as he trails behind the woman. “Besides, deserts get cold at night, it’s not like I lived in a state of constant heat.

“It’s really boverin’ you, ain’t it?”

“You’re seriously not even a little bit hot?”

“Eh, I’m not fussed.”

Cub groans. Stress grins. They walk in silence for a while longer before Cub speaks again.

“So how does it work?”

Stress turns to look at him. “Ay?”

“You not being bothered by heat.” He clarifies. “How does that work?”

Stress shrugs. “It’s just basic elements really. More to do with nature. I can’t make something from nothing, but I can use the elements to get various things that I need.”

He glances sideways at the woman who indeed looked to be completely unperturbed by the apparent humidity of the atmosphere. In fact, she looked much the same as she always did. Bright, bubbly, energetic. He could almost see a legitimate bounce to her step. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, groaning internally at the incessant heat. “Alright, and what does fire give you?”

“Energy.” She replies instantly. “Fire fosters connection. It nourishes the body and soul. It’s the element of enthusiasm, warmth, life .” Cub raises an eyebrow, and Stress hums, pondering on a turn of phrase. “I mean...think of a star, right.” She decides eventually. “It lives only so long as it remains hot enough to fuse the elements at its core, yeah?”

Cub shrugs. “Yeah?”

“Hydrogen fuses into Helium. Helium fuses into Carbon. It’s like fuel.” She carries on.“The heat is its life force. When it’s no longer hot enough to fuse the elements, the star will die. The heat you feel is just energy.” She smiles lightly, placing her hands behind her head as she breathes in the atmosphere happily. “It’s more refreshing really, I think it’s nice.”

“Makes one of us...”

Stress stops suddenly and Cub almost ploughs into her, just managing to catch himself before he can crash into the woman. He’s about to ask her why they had stopped when she turns around, holding a hand out towards him.

“Come here.” Cub glances at her outstretched hand warily. Stress laughs. “Come on, I don’t bite luv.”

Cub holds his hand out gingerly towards the woman. “This isn’t payback for hitting you with that arrow, is it?”

Stress rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Just hold still.”

She reaches forward, deftly placing one hand on his right shoulder, the other moving to rest on the top of his head, her thumb pushing lightly against the centre of his forehead. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, and then she is still.

Almost immediately the heat leaves him, as if being drawn from his skin, and he takes a deep breath. Several moments later Stress removes her hand, taking a step back.

“Better?”

Cub blinks. “Yeah. What did you do?”

“Just extracted some of the heat from your body.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not permanent or anything,” she adds quickly,  “I can’t just make the heat vanish into nothing, so like your skin is definitely going to absorb it again, but it might make you feel a little bit better. At least for the time being.”

“Thanks.”

The pair continue to walk along, chatting idly as they discuss possible locations for the others, before eventually stopping on the edge of a lava bank, unable to continue in the direction they had before. 

“Where to now?”

Cub looks along down the bank, spotting a pair of Striders sitting just off the coast and he smiles.

“I knew I grabbed these for a reason.” Cub reaches into his pockets, producing 2 miniature sized saddles from their depths and presenting them to the woman. “Fancy a ride?”

Stress’ eyes grow wide. “On that ?”

“Yeah! Come on! It’s just like riding a horse.”

“Yeah, a horse over lava .”

“They’re lava proof.”

“ I’m not.” Stress stands on the edge of the lake, looking down into the lava warily, as if inspecting its depths. She takes a step back and Cub pulls out a crafting table, looking at her quizzically as he proceeds to craft two fishing rods and tying a warped fungus to each end.

“You never been on a Strider?”

“I don’t ever come in here, Cub. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Nether ain’t really me cup a tea.” Cub walks towards the striders, holding his fishing rod aloft as he herds the pair towards the woman, and Stress eyeballs the creatures distrustfully.

“It’ll be fine, promise.” He holds the spare rod out for her to take.

Cubfan135 has just earned the advancement [This boat has legs]

Cub looks over at her expectantly, and Stress throws the creature one last uncertain look before walking towards it, shrieking as she feels the beast sink into the lava ever so slightly as she settles herself on its back.

Stressmonster101 has just earned the advancement [This boat has legs]

Cub smiles. “See? It’s easy.”

“Oh god...”

They had been wandering for some time before they spot something off in the distance.

“What is that?”

Cub squints, steering his beast towards the shape in the lava. “Looks like some kind of island.”

Although if it was indeed an island, it was certainly the smallest island he had ever seen. It looked small enough that one could walk from one end to the other in only a few bounds, but it wasn’t its size that had intrigued him. It was what was sitting on top.

Atop the surface of Netherrack was a series of magma blocks, but they were certainly not in any natural formation he had ever seen. Magma blocks normally generated in veins or chunks, but these were isolated, certainly not condensed in any one spot. In fact, they looked to have made a perfect grid across the entire surface of the island.

“That magma can’t be natural, can it?”

“Not likely.” He steers his Strider closer, dismounting once he had reached the odd terrain and walking to inspect the nearest magma block. He takes in the pattern for a moment before speaking. “It’s spawn proofing.”

“What?”

“The Ghasts.” He clarifies. “They need a 5 by 4 by 5 clear space and a block below them to spawn. Look at the spacing.”

Stress looks at the grid, counting the blocks between, before her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Someone was here! But where are they now?”

“No idea. But I mean, we can at least be pretty sure of which way they were headed.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of a straight line of magma leading away from the island.

“I mean, that’s as good a lead as any, right?”

Cub jumps back onto his Strider. “Let’s go.”

But they hadn’t traveled long. They had indeed followed the magma bridge to the best of their abilities, long after the island had dropped out of sight. But they had hit a snag when the trail just...stopped.

Stress looks over at him. “How does that work? It can’t just...end.”

Stress’ Strider chirps and Cub glances down at the creature. He looks into the distance to see a group of wild Striders splashing happily in the lava, looking between the end of the magma bridge and the otherwise empty looking lake, and he is struck by a wave of realization. Cub smiles.

“Xisuma.”

Notes:

Yes the entire reason the last Cub chapter exists was because I needed him to get saddles from somewhere 😅

Chapter 28: GoodTimesWithScar

Notes:

So, I meant for this chapter to come out like two days ago but I have been messing around in my minecraft world for WAY too long trying to design this Bdubs castle thing. Building is hARD

SPLASH

A wave of water crashes over the front of the boat, soaking his hair and leaving the taste of salt on his tongue. A series of water droplets cling to the exposed skin of his neck, and he shivers slightly as they drip down his back in a trail of wetness. The water feels cold against his previously dry skin, and he shakes the droplets from his hair, feeling very much like a Captain Jack Sparrow as he steers his dingy of a vessel through the expanse of Ocean before him.

After many days of exploring, Scar was finally returning to the Monument, his pockets now fully stocked with resources, and having used a few bits of the wood he had gathered to construct a boat for the return journey. He supposed he could have swam instead, but truth be told, he was a little tired of the water. That, and the boat was honestly faster, and he had more than enough saplings to make up for the minuscule amount of wood he had used to craft the vessel.

The wind blows his hair out behind him, the sun shining brightly above in the clear sky’s of blue. The breeze feels warm against his skin as his body drys off, and he hums softly to himself, a mere means of entertainment, and he inhales the salty air of the sea into his lungs.

He hoped Bdubs wouldn’t be too upset with him. Truth be told, he hadn’t meant for his trip to last so long. He had stayed on the mainland for a few days following discovery, taking the time to gather as much resources as he possibly could. He had chopped down enough oak trees to quell their need for wood, even managing to find a few birch and the odd spruce sapling along the way; they would at least provide a more substantial block pallet for use back at the Monument. His tools had already been upgraded to a set of stone, he’d found enough cows to provide at least a basic set of leather armour, and he’d gathered enough beef to satiate his hunger for the time being. He’d even managed to find enough sheep to provide the wool needed for an extra bed - he hoped Bdubs would at least be excited about that one.

But all the same, he hoped Bdubs wouldn’t be too upset. He knew they had agreed that they needed resources, which was why he had made this little trip to begin with. They needed the wood so they could craft the tools so they could get other resources so that they could build. And resources he had indeed gotten.

A week ago.

He had found the land a solid two days after departure, then having spent the next few days thoroughly raiding it of its resources. Wood, seeds, flowers, sand. He’d even managed a block of legitimate grass after slaying an Enderman that was carrying the commodity during his second night on the mass of terrain. But after only a few days there, Scar had pretty much exhausted the place of its resources. He had gotten everything that he needed. And so why , then had it taken him so long to return?

To put matters simply, he had gotten a little...sidetracked.

Don’t get him wrong. He had really meant to be back sooner. In fact, he had set out on the third morning to make his way back to the Monument. But as he had casted out from shore, he discovered something in the depths of his pockets that he had long since forgotten about.

The buried treasure map.

He had completely forgotten about its existence, having pulled it from that sunken ship wreck what felt like so long ago now. But still, he had been hesitant. He hadn’t discussed this with Bdubs, and he knew that since he had gotten the achievements the man would be expecting him back. They needed wood. That was it. Wood and then home. That was their agreement. But still, he struggled to resist the urge.

A struggle that had lasted for a solid two minutes of his life.

He was sure Bdubs was not going to be particularly happy. He was likely already upset at how long he had been away, and Scar imagined the mans anger was not likely to be quelled by the reasoning for his delayed return. Bdubs hadn’t wanted him to leave to begin with, he reminds himself, and he was sure the man was more than a little tired of drowning and fighting Guardians and being forced to build with his severe lack of resources.

Which might have been helped if you would have brought him the tools first...

Scar sighs internally, hoping against all odds that his companion would at least go a little bit easy on him.

He approaches his destination, the Monument looming ahead as he steers the vessel towards the coordinates. But what he sees just about causes his jaw to hit the floor. Bdubs had been busy . Gone was their original decrepit dirt shack of which they had spent their first night together so long ago. Instead, what now greeted him was four prismarine spires flanking the outlines of walls, their roofs baring the domed like framework of what he presumed was meant to be a glass roof that had yet to be filled in. From this angle, he can see the curved arches of at least three sets of doorways, two smaller on each of the two front spires, and a larger, grander style entrance directly in the middle. From each of these stemmed the pillar supports of a tunnel, which he again presumed were eventually meant to be filled with glass, with each entrance leading into the depths of what he would almost describe as a Victorian style greenhouse.

He steps out of his boat onto an empty sandstone platform, looking up at the structure with a sense of awe. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, given who had built it. Bdubs was an amazing builder, and he was the master of block pallets. He had ways of taking even the ugliest of materials and turning them into something beautiful, but considering what he had to work with, Scar was more than a little impressed.

“Scaaaaaaaaaaaaar!”

A force plows into his back, causing him to stumble forwards several steps, but he keeps his balance. And then a set of arms is crushing him from behind.

“Whoa! Bdubs!” His hand flies upwards to grasp at an arm that is now encircling his neck.

“ You’re back!” Bdubs exclaims, the man continuing to hug him from behind. “ You were gone for so long! It was so lonely out here! Never leave for that long ever again!”

“Um...hi.” Scar blinks. This was certainly not the response he had been expecting. When he had gotten the achievements for wood halfway through his second day after departure, then having neglected to return for another week and a half, he had expected Bdubs to be furious . The man was not exactly known for his steady temper, and he had expected yelling at the very least, maybe the occasional threat, but to the contrary, Bdubs seemed almost happy to see him. Scar looks up at the building ahead. “You’ve certainly been busy.”

“Oh yeah yeah yeah! Very busy! Do you have a crafting table on you by any chance?”

“Uh, yeah I think.” Scar rummages in his pockets, producing the item in question from their depths and placing the table on the floor in front of him.

“Wonderful!”

Scar is released in an instant as Bdubs immediately approaches the table, pulling several prismarine shards from his pockets and arranging them on the surface. Several seconds later the man takes a step back, now holding a handful of dark prismarine and grinning widely from ear to ear.

“Yes! This is exactly what I need!”

And then he’s gone, taking off across the platform towards the structure in a flurry of bubbling excitement, leaving Scar to trail after him with a look of utter bewilderment.

What just happened..?

Scar follows after his retreating form, walking through the main tunnel entrance and peering around curiously as he steps into the room Bdubs had gone, the man now building furiously as he fills in holes in the floor and replaces dirt blocks with his new material.

“Is this like, a throne room?”

“Yes! I worked very hard! I’m thinking of making a sort of glass circle on the floor there under the table, what do you think?”

Scar blinks, glancing in the direction Bdubs had gestured, taking in the overall decor. “Umm, yeah. Glass floor there could be nice. And maybe a single ring of it around the outside edge? Add a bit of detail?”

“Oh yeah yeah yeah! I like that idea!” Bdubs moves to another wall. Scar blinks again. “Sooo, how was your trip? Did you find everything ok?”

Scar shuffles nervously, watching curiously as the man worked as if expecting an outburst at any minute, but Bdubs merely continues to build away. Scar scratches the back of his head. “Umm...it was good, yeah. I got some saplings, some wood, some seeds, ya know...”

“That’s good! Saplings are good! And we can use the seeds for crops!”

“Right...” Bdubs continues to build, standing on the seat of the throne as he adds the dark prismarine trim. “...Are you...good?”

“Me? Oh fine fine! I am fine! Do I not seem fine? Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Scar throws him a curious look. “...you sure?”

Bdubs nods vigorously, merely continuing to build away. “Yes yes! Very sure!”

Scar was not convinced. “...ok...if you’re sure...are we good?”

Bdubs cocks his head to the side, still not looking away from the task at hand. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I was gone for a while, I just want to make sure that everything was still, ya know, ok...”

“Oh yes! I am in the zone Scar! I’ve been waiting to get my hands on this dark prismarine here. It’s a good accent, don’t you think?”

Scar was inclined to agree. Bdubs had certainly done an amazing job with such limited supplies, and considering what he would have had to go through to get them, Scar was more than a little impressed. “It is. And it makes the chairs look a lot more cushy.”

Bdubs smiles widely. “I know right? It’s going to be fantastic!”

Scar sighs. So he wasn’t mad. That was certainly a relief. Maybe he wouldn’t be upset if he told him about his little detour after all. Bdubs places a final block before climbing back to the floor, taking a moment to admire his work before finally turning to his companion.

“Right, now that that’s finished-“

Bdubs slaps him with a fish.

Scar blinks. “Wha-“

“HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME FOR SO LONG! YOU’VE BEEN GONE FOR ALMOST TWO WEEKS, AND YOU’VE BEEN OUT TREASURE HUNTING?!”

Scar winces. “Ahhh, there was an achievement for that, wasn’t there...”

“YES YES THERE WAS!”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry! I was on my way home and I just remembered the map and thought I would get it while I was already out! And look! I brought a Heart of the Sea! I thought we could use it to get a conduit, ya know so you stop drowning underwater and-and...stuff...” Scar shrinks in on himself, staring pointedly at the floor. Bdubs narrows his eyes.

“Oh a conduit , yes yes very useful very useful. You know when it would have been more useful? TWO WEEKS AGO WHEN I WAS FIGHTING THE ELDER GUARDIANS!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would take so long, I swear! I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal!”

Bdubs slaps him with a fish again.

“NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL?! YOU FOUND LAND WITHIN TWO DAYS AND THEN YOU DIDN’T COME BACK!” He thrusts the fish into his face, the commodity flopping helplessly as his arms flail wildly in gesture. “I’VE BEEN EATING RAW FISH AND DEALING WITH SCREAMING DEMONS AND FIGHTING GUARDIANS WITH MY FISTS FOR ALMOST TWO WEEKS!

“...isn’t that a sword right there..?” Bdubs takes a step forward and Scar gulps.

“THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT! I THOUGHT SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU! I THOUGHT THAT YOU GOT LOST OR TRAPPED OR FORGOT THE COORDINATES OR SOMETHING! YOU COULD HAVE CALLED !”

“But...we don’t have chat communication...”

“WELL YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST COME BACK AND TOLD ME WHERE YOU WERE GOING! YOU TOLD ME TO BUILD A BASE, BUT WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WHEN I DON’T HAVE ANY TOOLS?!”

“Well...I mean...the base looks nice..?”

“AND IT MIGHT HAVE LOOKED MORE COMPLETE IF SOMEONE WOULD HAVE COME BACK WHEN THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO!”

“But...but...conduit..”

Bdubs raises his hand in a claw like grasp and Scar takes several steps back, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his neck as he scampers to put some distance between himself and the approaching Bdubs.

“YOU-“

“ IBroughtYouABed? ”

A hand lands on his shoulder. Scar blinks. 

“-ARE MY FAVOURITE PERSON, HAVE I MENTIONED HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR FACE?!”

Chapter 29: BdoubleO100

SCREEEEECH

Hissssssssssss

Groan...

Bdubs turns over in his bed, squinting his eyes shut as he tries his best to block out the noise. The sun had set long ago, the moon now gracing the sky with her presence, and after two weeks without a bed, the man had been looking forward to finally being able to sleep.

If he could ever get to sleep that was.

It was his own fault, really. With all the excitement of Scar finally returning home, he had neglected to light up his remaining platforms. He hadn’t had enough coal when he was on his own, but when Scar had finally returned yesterday, the notion of torches had simply...slipped his mind. And when there wasn’t particularly any masses of land nearby, those platforms tended to procure a lot of mobs. Which, coincidentally, also made a lot of noise. 

Which meant he had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours.

The pair had set up the beds Scar had procured in one of the unfinished side wings of their greenhouse castle, the duo having just enough daylight to design a general floor plan for the room. They had laid out the sandstone floor in its entirety, having then constructed about a quarter of the walls and smelting enough sand to fit a single section of the roof with a batch of clear glass. Based off the colour palette of the prismarine, he would have preferred to use the cyan variant, but seeing as they were particularly short of all manner of dyes, he had elected to test with the original. This was by no means a permanent feature, but at the very least he had needed to see the concept demonstrated in action.

The beds themselves had been placed roughly 16 feet apart, each pushed with the head against the wall and separated by a line of prismarine bricks encasing a five by five space of sandstone flooring. There were several more of these open-concept pods lining the walls. In fact, if one were to break down the dirt safety wall they had constructed for the night to view the floor in its entirety, they would find exactly 24. Ten on each of the longer two walls, a larger gap in the middle for the door, and 2 in the middle of each end - one for each Hermit. All empty barre two.

A Phantom screeches from somewhere overhead and Bdubs turns onto his back, pulling the blanket up to his nose as he scowls pointedly at the ceiling above.

SCREEEEEEEEECH

Clack

ARGhhhhh

He hated this. He hated the noise. He hated not being able to sleep. If this didn’t stop soon, the constant stream of monster noises was going to drive him insane. He squints his eyes shut, breathing deeply as he tries to block out the sound.

One...two...three...breathe...One...Two...Three...breathe-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

HISSSSSSSSSS

ARGHHHHHHH

He bolts upright in bed. “I can’t do it Scar!”

Scar stirs in his own bed, the man merely shifting on his side as he replies, a teasing sort of loll to his voice. “What, reach the top shelf without a stool?”

“...”

“...”

A beat.

“...NO! Reach the top shelf without a—No! You think you’re so funny?! I’ll come over there Scar! I’m gonna—I’ll—I’m not short, ok?!”

Scar laughs to himself, snickering from his own bed some several feet away. Bdubs merely continues to grumble to himself, and Scar can’t help the smirk that makes its way across his face. “Sorry sorry, you were saying?”

“Reach the top shelf without a—I oughta—NO! Sleep! I can’t sleep! ”

Scars laughing ceases almost immediately, the man schooling his features into a look of mock horror as he stares over at him as if he had just seen a ghost. “Who are you and what have you done with Bdubs?”

Bdubs throws a pillow at him. Scar smirks.“I’m serious! I really can’t sleep!”

“Seriously, I need to check your temperature or something?”

“Well how’s anyone expected to get any rest with all this racket?! ”

As if to accentuate his point, the tell tale screech of a Phantom pierces the night, a dark shadow passing over the floor several feet from the foot of his bed, and Bdubs glances upwards towards the small segment of glass roof warily. Scar sits up in his bed.

“Bro, you sleep like a log. I’ve seen you sleep through much worse than a couple phantoms.”

“Well, I mean there’s things besides phantoms!” He argues. “There’s Spiders! And Zombies! And-and Skeletons!” A zombie groans from somewhere outside and he glares at the walls, as if thoroughly offended by their absolute lack of sound proofing. “I’m pretty sure there’s an Enderman out there too.”

“Well if you would have lit up the platforms maybe there wouldn’t be so many mobs.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you , Mr. I never light up my builds .”

Scar smirks to himself. “What can I say, the torches ruin the aesthetic.”

“And the lack thereof is probably the leading cause of death of half the Hermits who shop in the shopping district.”

“I’m sorry, who forgot to light up his build and is now complaining about the lack of quiet due to hoards of mobs spawning everywhere?”

“...Shut up.”

Scar smiles lightly. “Seriously though, I’ve definitely seen you sleep through worse. Like I’m pretty sure you just slept through the entirety of the Civil War.”

“Not true! I was busy falling from the sky!”

“Ok, but like you definitely could have slept through the entirety of the Civil War. I’m pretty sure you could have a marching band playing directly in front of you and you’d still sleep right through it.”

“Yeah, but that’s when I’m already asleep.” Bdubs argues. “I gotta actually fall asleep first for that to happen.”

“Well, how do you manage it usually?”

“I usually just go to bed before anything can spawn, but I think we are a little late for that!”

Scar glances over at him, all trace of playfulness gone now as he looks at his friend with a genuine concern. Bdubs merely continues to glare at the wall, grumbling about zombies and demon birds, and Scar takes a moment to contemplate.

“Ok, how bout this.” Scar turns, angling his body so that he is now fully facing him, moving to sit cross legged on the bed. “For one night and one night only I will go light up your platforms, then I’ll stay up for the rest of the night and kill off all the mobs for you. Then there won’t be anything to keep you awake. Does that sound good?”

Bdubs hesitates. Logically speaking, he knew it was a bad idea. Actually, logically speaking, he knew it was an absolutely absurd idea. Scar? Lighting up his builds? As his security guard ? The man probably had the highest death count of any of the Hermits and here he was volunteering to fend off the hoards of mobs in the middle of the night, knowing fully well that his spawn was set three days away. No, it was more than just a bad idea. It was an absolutely absurdly bad idea. And yet...Scar looked so genuine. And Bdubs really was tired. He’d never gone this long without sleep before, and he didn’t particularly fancy going another entire day functioning solely off of sheer force of will. He had long surpassed the state of tired days ago. Now, he was just exhausted. It was just those damn mobs with their shrieking and hissing and groaning that kept him awake, but if Scar was offering ...

“...yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Scar jumps out of bed, taking hold of Bdubs’ previously discarded pillow and tossing it back to him, the commodity landing at the foot of the bed with a soft fwump , and Bdubs watches as the man grabs for his sword.

“...Scar?”

“Yeah?” He glances towards him.

“Just like...don’t die, kay?”

Scar stands up straighter, squaring his shoulders as he holds his head high. “Never fear, I am the master of the night.” He makes as if to twirl his sword but its handle slips from his grasp, his arms flailing as he fumbles with the weapon until it eventually clatters to the floor with a clang of metal. He blinks. “...That was an accident!”

“You are not instilling confidence in me...”

“That was a one time thing, I swear.” He collects his sword once more, grasping its hilt in his hand before striding towards the door.

“Scar, you sure you want to-“

“No no, everything is fine, you just go to sleep. Don’t even worry about a thing, I have 100% got this.”

Bdubs sighs. Oh boy.

——

“-ubs. Bdubs! Wake up!”

Bdubs is awoken some time later, a hand on his shoulder as its owner does their best to pull him from his slumber. He pries his eyes open, his vision blurry as the room swims in and out of focus. “Mmm...Wah?”

“Come on, get up! You need to see this!”

Bdubs blinks groggily. “...Scar?”

“Yeah, it’s me, now get out of bed!

He groans, sitting up slowly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t say for how long he had been there, but the grogginess hung over him like a thick sheet, his limbs heavy and his mind cloudy, and he can’t help the stifled yawn that escapes him as he speaks. “What time is it?”

“Time to listen to Scar and get out of bed.”

He glances upwards towards the small segment of completed roof above him, the moon shining brightly through the glass of the ceiling, and he blinks sleepily up at the commodity. “Dude...it’s still dark out...”

“You can sleep later. Now quick!”

And then he is out of bed, a hand clasped tightly around his wrist as he is dragged forward, and Bdubs stumbles over his feet, leaving a trail of discarded blankets in his wake as he is dragged helplessly across the room.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s something you have to see. Right now.” Scar continues to pull him forward, the man looking to be positively bursting with excitement, and Bdubs groans.

“...Can’t this wait until morning?”

“No.” Scar stops. “Well, I mean, maybe. But not really.  Now come on! ”

Scar drags him along, the still half-asleep Bdubs not even having the energy to fight against him as he simply allows himself to be pulled forward through the side exit. And then they are outside, the moon shining high in the sky as Scar continues to pull him along beneath the canopy of stars, right to the edge of the sandstone platform, and then he stops.

“Look!” The man bounces excitedly, pointing across the water. Bdubs squints, following his gaze as his tired eyes attempt to focus on whatever it was he was supposed to be looking at. Scar grins ear to ear. “I told you my plan would work!”

Bdubs stares at the approaching commodity bobbling along in the distance, his brain catching up with what his eyes were seeing. He blinks.

“...Well I’ll be...”

Chapter 30: Rendog

Notes:

Dialogue is hARD.

Thus far, Ren had considered himself lucky. Given the parameters of the game and the task at hand, he felt he had been relatively fortunate. He had food, tools, a small collection of richities. He’d even managed to find another person almost immediately, and with relatively minimal effort to boot.

There was always a certain level of frustration that came with starting any new world. Resources were scarce, hunger more prominent. Early days were hard on any player, but the Hermits felt these adversities ten fold. They got used to their mega bases, their Elytras, their Netherite gear. They’d become accustomed to their industrial scale farms, the massive storage systems, the Shopping District. By end of year, most had habituated to the prospect of simply purchasing most anything one could desire that the mere thought of having to chop down a tree by hand again was enough to make any of them groan.

How lucky it was for Ren, then, that he had just skipped the process entirely.

Spawning close to the End City had meant he had simply bypassed the punching of trees and the early stages of stone tools and leather armour. The chest loot had given him a full set of Diamond gear almost immediately, which, true, might not have been quite on the same level as a set of Netherite, but he was far from complaining. He’d recovered more than enough armour, tools, other valuables. Even deaths-wise he had been doing well. He had only died once, and even then that had been a purposeful tactic to convey location. And so yes, up until this point, Ren had considered himself fairly fortunate. But now?

He was the luckiest man alive.

“Hey! Over here!”

“Ren?! Cleo?! Is that you?!”

“Oh my goodness there’s people!”

“ Scar! Bdubs! ”

“We’ve been alone for so long!”

Ren steers the boat towards the structure, docking at the sandstone platform before the pair climb from the vessel.

And then everyone is talking at once.

“Oh my god that has got to be the luckiest find ever!”

“I still can’t believe that actually worked.”

“Listen man there was a desert village and a cartographer and some villager trappage going on, and-

“Where did you start?!”

“I told you! I told you!”

“Did you guys build that?! ”

“You totally missed it! We fought the dragon and-“

The excitement continues, each animatedly speaking over the other in a flurry of pent up excitement. In fact, they had continued on in this jumble of words for several more minutes before the chaos had eventually died down to a more muted excitement, the conversation finally being moulded into a more pliable state. Bdubs takes a breath. 

“I seriously can’t believe that worked. I’ve been out here for over two weeks. I was starting to think I’d never see another person ever and then you all show up at once.”

Cleo let’s out a breathy sort of laugh, almost not believing herself, and the woman rakes a hand through her own scarlet locks with a look of shocked disbelief. “I mean I saw the map and figured we’d give it a go, but I honestly didn’t think you’d actually be here .”

“See Bdubs! I told you the cartographers would work!”

“Yeah yeah, you’re very smart.” Scar claps a hand onto his shoulder, giving it a shake, and Bdubs grumbles at the floor, ultimately failing to keep his own smile from breaking out across his face.

Cleo sighs. “That was like 99% luck though. Like that was the first map we picked up, there’s no way that happens again.”

Ren merely smiles wider. “I know, but this is great! We knew Bdubs was at a Monument, but we weren’t expecting to find Scar too! It was like a surprise two in one deal!”

“Wait, you didn’t know we were together?”

“No! We were just hoping Bdubs was still here if we’re honest. We didn’t know Scar was even anywhere close.”

“I mean Scar was getting wood achievements when you were dying to Elder Guardians, so...”

Scar looks at Bdubs.

Bdubs looks at Scar.

A beat.

“Ya know, come to think of it we never did make that explicitly clear...”

“Well, I mean, there’s one easy way to fix that.” Three sets of eyes turn to Cleo, the woman merely raising an eyebrow as she drags a finger across her throat. Scar turns to Bdubs.

“Please don’t kill me yet, I know I left you for like two weeks, but I haven’t slept.”

Cleo rolls her eyes. “I mean, I kind of meant after we’d set our spawn? I mean, I don’t particularly fancy another trek from The End myself.”

“You guys have beds?”

Cleo nods. “Yeah. Nicked some from the village before we left. You?”

“Yeah. Brought some back when I left for supplies.”

“Speaking of which, can we go back inside now?” Bdubs glances upwards warily. “Ya know, before the vultures come back?”

Three voices hum their agreement.

“Wonderful.” Bdubs turns on his heel, walking briskly towards the building until he finally has a roof over his head, and the remaining three follow him inside. Cleo glances upwards at the prismarine walls.

“How did you even see us coming? You couldn’t hear us from all the way over here could you?”

Scar shakes his head. “Nah, I was out lighting up the platforms and saw you in the distance.”

“What, is Scar actually lighting up his builds? Now I’ve heard everything...”

“Yeah mark the calendar it won’t happen again.” Bdubs adds with a grin.

Scar smiles. “Technically it was Bdubs’ build not mine, so the streak is still safe.”

“Ah, there it is. Was about to start questioning the balance of the universe.”

“I take my roll very seriously.”

“Why were you doing this in the middle of the night is what I want to know.” Cleo raises an eyebrow. “Like surely you could have done that during the day.”

Scar holds his hands up in front of him, the group turning down a hall to their left as they make their way to the correct room. “Don’t look at me, that was all his doing.”

“I forgot ok! There was just a lot of stuff that happened!”

Cleo pauses. “Wait, hang on, so he’s lighting up your builds in the middle of the night and he hasn’t set his spawn yet? How did you think that was a good idea?”

Bdubs scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, see, funny story-“

“Bdubs couldn’t sleep because apparently the mobs were too noisy for him.”

“They were more than a little noisy, alright?! How anyone could even think with all that racket is just—it—it was very loud ok?!”

Ren shakes his head. “Scars lighting up builds, Bdubs can’t sleep, what’s the world coming to...”

They enter the wing, stopping just beyond the entrance as Bdubs gestures widely to the room as a whole. “Welcome to the dormitory!”

Scar grins. “Pick a plot, set up shop, and decorate as you please! 100% satisfaction guaranteed!”

“Mhm, 5 star review! Take it or leave it!”

Cleo snickers. “I mean, the fact that you’ve only had 2 people for reviews thus far is irrelevant, yeah?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Ren smirks, approaching a plot on the far wall. “I dunno man the floor looks a bit dusty. I mean it’s a bring your own bed affair, I mean jeez man.”

Scar only smiles wider. “If I could just draw your attention to the exquisite architecture. I mean this one even comes with this pillar, I mean look at it, who wouldn’t want this amazing pillar.”

“Oh yes, I see what you mean. This one has a staggering view of the lovely dirt ceiling.” Cleo raises an eyebrow. “Does it come with the torches?”

“...it’s a work in progress.”

“I mean, is there snackage included? This is what I need to know. Ya know, a little room service maybe?”

“Why absolutely, each plot owner is given complimentary access to our fine assorted seafood buffet. We have the finest cod in town, fresh caught and extra fishy, courtesy of Ches Monument.”

“Sold!” Ren places a bed with a plop . “This ones mine.”

Cleo smiles, producing her own bed and claiming a spot on the far wall beside him before pausing. “Hold on.” She rummages around in her pockets, placing a crafting table and immediately arranging a set of materials on its surface.

Ren cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just crafting a—there!” She places a barrel beside the bed, immediately emptying the contents of her pockets inside. “There we go. Much better.”

“Oh! That gives me an idea!” Bdubs exclaims, approaching the previously used crafting table and patting down his own pockets as if feeling for an object. He frowns. “Hmm, Scar you still got that leather? And the paper you got from that shipwreck?”

“Yeah, here.” He tosses the items to his companion.

“Perfect.” Bdubs sets to work on arranging the offered items atop the table, constructing various objects before turning around. “Now if we just do this-“ he places a bookshelf to the right of the barrel, arranging a spruce slab and a sign on its front, the barrel itself receiving an ordinary stone button on its face before he steps back to admire his work. “We have a little dresser.”

Scar smiles. “Oh that’s awesome! The bookshelf looks like clothes in an open drawer! That’s smart!”

Bdubs beams proudly, offering a playful sort of bow. “Why thank you, thank you. And now you’ve got a little end table. Fully functional too!”

Cleo squints at the new addition, staring thoughtfully as if in contemplation. “Hmm, it’s missing something.” She once again approaches the barrel, opening its lid as if it were indeed a bedside drawer, and pulls something from inside. She smiles, arranging the dragon head atop its surface, before taking a step back. “Now this is my room.”

———

“You’re leaving already?” Scar asks sometime the next morning, the four having slept the night away and since having gathered in the Throne Room for a spot of breakfast. He approaches the Round Table, pulling a chair next to Bdubs and sitting down, a chunk of bread held between his teeth as he joins his friends for their impromptu meeting.

Cleo hums, swallowing a bite of fish before speaking. “I mean, we gotta start looking for people eventually, right? And we got a lead on Joe.”

Bdubs looks up, pausing mid bite. “Joe?”

Cleo nods. “Yeah, we think he might be in a Stronghold somewhere.”

Ren hums his agreement. “We were using the Eyes of Ender to track him down before Cleo found the map in the village and thought we’d give it a go.” He explains, taking a bite of his own fish before reaching towards the table, his hand scouring for some unknown item, but merely closing around the empty air. He frowns.

“Right. But now that there’s 4 of us that have a spawn set here we can do a bit of multitasking.” Cleo passes Ren a loaf of bread, the man beaming widely before taking a large bite, and she continues. “We’re going to need a base of operations, so if you guys want to keep setting up shop here, I’ll go out and have a look for Joe.”

“Don’t forget the Ren Diggity Dog!” Ren swallows a bite of bread. “I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be ok on my own.”

He shakes his head. “No way, I’m definitely coming. Divide and conquer, but strength in numbers, yeah?” He looks at the woman determinedly. “Besides, two sets of eyes are better than one, and I think we’ve made a pretty good team so far.”

Cleo smiles lightly. “Alright. So if that’s decided, Ren and I will go look for Joe and you two stay here and work on setting up base. Sound good?”

A round of hums sound their agreement before Bdubs speaks. “You said you guys came from a desert, right? You wouldn’t have happened to pick up any cactus, would you?”

“Or maybe happen to remember a very vague set of coordinates, by chance?” Scar adds. “We seem to find ourselves in need of a fairly significant quantity of cyan glass, and we’ve pretty much, ah, extracted all the sand in the general vicinity.”

“I’ve got some cactus if you were looking for dye!” Ren says. “It’s back in the barrel in my room, but I couldn’t tell you the coordinates, sorry.”

Cleo hums. “I don’t remember the coordinates exactly either, but we came almost in a straight diagonal that way.” She makes a gesture in a vaguely south east direction. “If you get your hands on some obsidian you could probably find it using the Nether with a bit of trial and error. Probably wouldn’t hurt to get some Nether tunnels set up anyway.”

“Yeah, you guys are kind of in the middle of nowhere. Might want access to the mainland at some point my dudes.”

Scar looks at Bdubs and shrugs. “Well Ferb, I know what we’re gonna do today.”

“Are you quoting the disney channel?!”

Cleo smiles lightly. “Well, if that’s settled I guess we’ll be off.”

“Yeah baby! No one keeps the Hermits apart! Let’s go!” Ren pumps a fist into the air excitedly. Cleo looks over at him.

“Last chance to back out. We’ve got a long trek ahead. You sure you still wanna come with me?”

Ren merely smiles, raising a closed fist for her to tap. “Stronger together, yeah?”

Chapter 31: Impulse

Notes:

Right, firstly: I meant to start writing this on Monday and then finish on Wednesday and then got called in to work all week and definitely did not start this till yesterday (sorry)

Secondly: we doing a little bit of time traveling now. And by that I mean we have some more day 1 perspectives.

Thirdly: am just now realizing how many Hermits there are...

Cramped. He felt cramped. The world hasn’t fully loaded yet, but even now he feels constricted. There’s something pushing against his side, his back. Touching his arms, his feet, and breathing down his neck. He is jostled from side to side, pushed and pulled this way and that in directions that seemed to lack all rhyme or reason. Tossed about like a single potato in a sack of dozens, bumped and bruised as they are carted about in the back of some old pickup truck along a gravel road, as he waits for the world to load. As he waits to see .

And he feels everything and nothing. He feels everywhere . Anywhere and everywhere something is touching him, pushing him, grabbing him. But as to the cause? He really couldn’t say. A foot, a hand, a tree, a limb. There are far too many factors to tell. But the touch is suffocating, making it difficult to even breathe as he is smothered in it. And he had never been one to mind enclosed spaces, but the constant touch is enough to make him feel claustrophobic.

Impulse hits the ground with a thunk, his vision finally swimming into focus as he makes out the ground beneath him. And for a very brief moment he is confused. Until he hears a familiar sound. A sound, which, quite honestly, was the last thing he had expected to hear.

Villagers .

What felt like dozens of villagers. A sea of villagers all confined in a single space, pushing and prodding and trampling . He feels a jab in his side as he attempts to move forward, crawling on all fours as he is kicked and knocked and just generally subjected to all manners of manhandling. 

Ping!

He hears his communicator go off and he automatically reaches for the device, struggling to retrieve it under the barrage of kicks he was still receiving from the mob of villagers. In fact, the device manages to sound a second time before he can fully retrieve it from his pants pocket, pulling the screen close enough to his face to read amidst the jostling.

BdoubleO100 drowned.

Hypnotized tried to swim in lava.

He blinks down at the device.

Damn. Rough break.

Ping!

Tango fell from a high place.

Impulse receives a kick to the head. He drops the communicator, using his arms instead to shield his face, and wincing at the now prominent ringing in his left ear. He peaks upwards enough to see a mob of feet. Just feet and the occasional patch of stone on the floor and nothing else. He attempts to stand, but is once again knocked to the ground mere seconds later.

Why are there so many villagers here?

Ping!

He glances down again, ducking his head low as he reaches for his dropped communicator to check the screen.

BdoubleO100 drowned whilst trying to escape Elder Guardian.

Ping!

iJevin was shot by Skeleton.

He turns off the screen, holding the device in one hand as he crawls across the floor. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t even stand up properly without being knocked about. He frankly had more range of motion on the floor. At least he couldn’t be knocked over if he was already on the ground.

Ping! Ping!

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic.

Tango fell from a high place.

He wades through the madness, army crawling himself across the floor and maneuvering around sets of legs, getting trampled in the process, until he eventually reaches the shape of a stone wall, squinting at the malformed shape. He glances upwards, just being able to make out a few cracks of blue sky amongst the ever moving pack.

Am I...outside?

Ping!

Hypnotized burnt to death.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using magic.

He hugs the wall, continuing to crawl his way along as he does his best to scope out the area, trying to find any means of escape. A crawl space, a hole in the ground, stairway to heaven, any means of leaving this god forsaken pit of villagers.

He soon realizes that is exactly what he is dealing with. A pit. Closed in on all sides except up and no easy way out. They must have all fallen in and not been able to get out. It at least explained all the villagers, although as to why they had all converged into this one spot in the first place, he couldn’t say. But the why didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was that he was stuck in a pit with more than a few dozen odd villagers and no simple means of escape. He was going to have to dig his way out.

Ping!

iJevin was shot by Skeleton.

He circles the pit once more, sticking close to the wall as he looks for a more vulnerable spot to start a staircase, much preferring the option of digging dirt over stone. He stops halfway around, angling himself towards a small section of dirt wall and reaching out to strike the area in order to free up a space for a foothold, his hand grazing the side of an ankle as the villagers continue to scuttle about in all directions.

He doesn’t even get to break the block. Because half a second later he is being catapulted into the air, launched into the sky above his pit and then descending once again, the wind knocked from his lungs as he hits the ground with a wheeze of pain. And he barely even has time to groan before it strikes again, his body going much less far this time as he feels a familiar sort of pain. A pain which, if he were to be thinking clearly, he would realize he knows all too well.

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

He lands in the pit again with a thunk, immediately being knocked to the ground once more as the villagers shuffle and shift in every which direction. He crawls forward again, the bombardment of feet kicking in his sides as he tries to get to the edge once again. And then his finger grazes something hard. Something that felt neither of foot nor stone.

He stops, glancing upwards at the entity before him, his eyes slowly raking up a set of long, metallic legs. Rusting and overgrown with moss and vines, as if left forgotten for over a decade. Like it had sat dormant and exposed to the elements where nature had threatened to reclaim it.

He had never figured out just what it was that made these strange creatures ‘tick’. Had never discovered whatever vibration it was in the beginning of time that had determined today the pulse of their heart. Or if they even had a heart. Were they truly just lights and clockwork? Nothing more than a scrap of metal held together by a few bolts and filled with but a series of whirring cogs and gears? Was their conscious truly nothing more than a few random segments of code?

The creature stares down at him, meeting his gaze, and Impulse stares into empty sockets. Two empty black holes filled with nothing but the slightest flicker of red, as if  those two tiny red specs were a mere visual representation of the beasts soul. And he had seen Golems before. Hell, he’d died to them too. But somehow, seeing it from this close, the beast towering over him menacingly as those strange flickers of red fire stare into the depths of his soul, it’s enough to send a genuine shiver down his spine.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using magic.

Ping!

Tango fell from a high place.

His communicator snaps him from his thoughts, tearing his eyes from the creature before he continues to push his way forward, his stomach dragging across the ground as he makes his way to the wall once more. It didn’t matter now. He would have plenty of time for questioning their existence once he found the others. Right now, he just needed to get out.

He circles again, finding the same wall as before, once again trying to dig out a foot hold. He clips another villager in passing.

THWACK!

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

This might have actually been more of an issue. There were too many villagers. He couldn’t even move without hitting one, and with the Iron Golem around, one misstep meant certain death. He tries several times more, to no avail.

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Ping!

Hypnotized tried to swim in lava.

He squints at the outline of the wall. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. After all, there were far too many villagers to realistically think he would be able to mine anything without hitting one. But maybe he could use the mechanic to his advantage.

He once again wades into the sea of villagers, this time seeking the Golem directly from where it is hiding amongst the numbers and nudging the creature towards the wall. Maybe if he agroed it close enough it would simply toss him over the edge. At this point, anything was worth a shot.

He reaches forward, bracing for the impact as he gives its metal leg a shove. And then he is airborne once again, crashing roughly against the stone wall of the pit, accidentally hitting another villager that he doesn’t see as he falls, before the Golem has done him in once again.

Alright. Too close to the edge.

Ping!

iJevin was shot by Skeleton. 

He tries again. This time positioning the Golem slightly farther back, practically standing on its feet as he whacks it again, and it shoots him straight upwards, making good height but not enough arch to breach the confines

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 drowned.

He had a good feeling about the next one.  He had been nearly there that time. If he stood a little father away before it got him, he was sure he could get the arch that he needed. He crawls towards it again, positioned slightly further away, and he makes to whack it again, only something steps in his way. A villager had crossed his path once again, unsurprisingly taking the hit instead before collapsing over sideways. But that had done it. The Golem yeets him into the air, his body flailing over the edge of the pit, and he lands on the ground above with an oof.

He sighs, allowing himself a moments break as he simply lies on his back, unmoving. This was certainly an improvement. He had room to breathe up here, but his rest is short lived. Out of the corner of his eye he spots something fast approaching. Something large and distinctly metallic rushing straight for him at a speed that barely gives him time enough to sit up before it is upon him.

Not another one...

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Ping!

Tango fell from a high place.

At this point he wasn’t too resigned to be overly annoyed. After all, he could just try again. He had managed the leap that time round, he could do it again.

But then again, maybe not.

Because he had lost track. Lost track of the reputation points. In his haste to escape, he had hit one too many villagers, and the Golems seek him out like a pack of hungry bloodhounds. And he was the juicy steak about to be ripe for tenderizing.

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Impulse was slain by Iron Golem.

Notes:

Right, now that all the day one death loops are out of the way... (we gonna pretend like Bdubs was too busy dying to notice chat the first time round and not that I had zero idea what I was doing with these characters before I started)

Chapter 32: TinFoilChef

Notes:

Was not procrastinating writing this chapter at aLL, don’t know wHAT you’re talking about. (Turns out it is not enough to simply imagine things in my head, I actually have to WRITE things on paper, how dare)

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

It’s all pretty inconsequential.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

He could do this. All he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. All he had to do was keep moving.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

This is the mantra. Circling idly within his brain. Chanted over and over and mumbling it’s displeasure somewhere between his ears as he pushes himself forward.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

It rings out louder than the muted pounding of his heart. Louder than each laboured breath of air that he takes into his lungs. Louder than the crunch of gravel and snow beneath his aching feet as he continues his ascent up the mountain.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

There’s a tightness to his chest. An aching sort of pain that seeps and spreads and makes it difficult to breathe. His lungs feel as if they have been dipped in a liquid poison. Constricted and tingly and almost cold, as if every nerve ending is on fire, seared by a flame that is neither hot nor cold, and yet still burns , the flames merely stoked by each laboured breath of oxygen that he takes into his lungs. And it almost feels as if he is being suspended upside down, the excess poison sopping from the organs and dripping down his throat, and he can feel that same tightness in his esophagus. Tingly and strained and burning .

The air here felt cold and thin, like there wasn’t enough oxygen to quench his lungs of their depravity. And it feels as if the organs are no longer under his own control. Like they are being worked by some outside force. As if the very atmosphere has sustained it’s own rhythmic pulse, possessing his entire being and forcing him to dance to its crude tune, all while his own body fights against it. And he wishes it would give in. Prays against all odds that it would just submit and end his suffering, but it doesn’t. His lungs continue to pulse and flounder as they try to breathe at their own rate, but the inexorable beat within and without continues as he trudges up the side of the mountain, not helped at all by the prominent pounding of his heart against his ribs.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

He wasn’t used to this. He knew that the act of climbing a mountain had frequently been equivalated as life’s greatest struggle, but never before had a task felt as if it had required so much physical effort. And he had spent years in the mines, digging away for days at a time over the span of weeks on end. He was no stranger to the qualms of physical labour, but right now he was just exhausted. His chest rises and falls heavily, panting with exertion as his lungs strain and wheeze for the air they so desperately craved, and yet coming up short every time. It was like walking up a never ending staircase that continued upwards for eternity, with cracked stone steps and roots sprouting from every crevice upon which he would ultimately stumble, twisting limbs and pulling muscles he didn’t even know he had. He could feel his joints crack and protest with each staggering step, and with the exertion combined with the thin atmosphere, it was like trying to run a marathon whilst trying to breathe through a straw.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

He definitely wouldn’t have described his current situation as one of comfort. He was a miner, not a climber. He liked being underground where he felt safe and could be left to his own devices. There had always been this therapeutic aspect of mining for him. It was simple and mindless and had an easy sort of rhythm about it, one of which was easy to fall under. It had always made him feel calmer, in a way. Sure, it was hard work, but it was a satisfying sort of labour. He didn’t have to think or calculate or theorize. He could simply do .

That is not the environment he finds himself in now.

It feels so open here on the mountains edge. The world stretches out before him, large and pronounced and exposed . He felt vulnerable this far out in the open. Unprotected. Each stride forward is strategic, predetermined, meticulously calculated for the best course of action, bringing with it the knowledge of just how far up he was. And each step is only accentuated by the one thought that this knowledge brings.

Don’t fall.

There were of course other struggles as well. Traversing through the mountains was not exactly easy on the old hunger bar, and unless he had planned to survive on nothing but the strangled air in his lungs, he needed to find the shortest path possible to get to the top in order to spare his hunger. A problem that contrasted rather harshly with another.

Mountain goats.

There were mountain goats everywhere. He wouldn’t have gone as far as to say that the area was crawling with them, but they were definitely around, and they brought with them a whole new set of problems. It wasn’t as if the creatures were particularly hostile, and being around them was honestly fine for most of the time. It was just that they had a bit of a nasty habit of ramming anything that didn’t move, which was fine when he was close to the ground, but when he was 500 to 1000 feet in the air, when any sort of drop meant certain death, it became a bit more of an issue. But as dangerous as it was, it was a problem that possessed a relatively easy fix depending on the perspective.

Don’t stop moving.

It was an effective sort of solution, but one of which came with its own set of qualms and drawbacks - the aforementioned hunger problem for instance. He supposed he could simply walk around the base and spare even the slightest amount of hunger, but over every mountain is a path that might not be seen from the valley, and he needed that extra height advantage to scope out his surroundings.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

He finally stumbles upon the mountains peak, tired and sore and thoroughly out of breath. He glances from side to side, taking a very quick look for any sign of lingering goats, before surveying his surroundings.

Beautiful. That is the first word that pops into his mind. The view was beautiful. A long mountain range stretches out before him, the sun caressing each snow encrusted peak with its golden kiss, and a blanket of mist hangs suspended over the valley. The sky is almost an eerie sort of blue, like a burning gas flame, with wispy streaks of white as if the clouds are merely a formless smear of paint across a canvas.

The world is quiet here. Peaceful. He can see the glisten of the sunlight as it is reflected against the snow covered ground, giving the surface a sort of sparkle about it. The view is breathtaking both figuratively and literally, and he is struck with a sense of wonder as he stares out at his surroundings. And for a moment he does nothing. Simply stands and stares out at the scene before him. Looking. Appreciating. The bleat of a lamb pulls him from his thoughts, and he sighs, staring down the other side of the mountain and mentally preparing himself to continue his trek onwards. After all, getting to the top was optional. Getting down was mandatory.

He can see the outline of a spruce forest somewhere off in the distance, and he sets his sights on it, quickly checking his communicator for a set of coordinates before making his decent. Wood was always a good place to start, and hopefully he would be able to find some animals along the way.

Hopefully I can find a couple sheep in that forest…

He reaches the bottom, taking one last look at the mountain from which he had come, the same goat still standing prominently atop the higher ledge. From this angle it almost looked like a snow covered adaptation of pride rock, and it’s only once he’s reached the bottom does he realize how large the structure really is. The realization makes him feel small. This was just one tiny piece of the world he reminds himself. His friends would be scattered across all corners of the map, both high and low and across dimensions, and it is only now, as he stares up at the massive formation before him, that he feels the full weight of the task ahead.

He turns once again, stalking away from the base of the mountain and continuing to trek onwards. He sighs.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

Chapter 33: Grian

Notes:

Grian chapters are going to be the bane of my existence. I don’t know what to do with a chaos gremlin when he can’t cause chaos, and he can’t do that until he finds someone 😅. Grian, my dude, love you, but this chapter was literally like ripping my fingernails out from the root. Very seriously debated combining this Grian chapter with the next one so I didn’t have to write another one so soon but it will mess up the floooooow

Am slightly dead inside now but it’s fine!

“Just go away !”

Grian brandishes his sword, the blade slicing through the air and knocking back another spider as he does his best to free his foot from an entrapment of webbing. He was determined now. He was going to find diamonds if it was the last thing he did. It was getting a bit ridiculous at this point. He had been at this for days, killing mobs, mining ores, raiding chests and conquering dungeons, and still he had found zero diamonds.

This wasn’t to say that his expedition had left him completely empty handed. He’d found more than enough iron for a full set of armour as well as to satisfy all of his basic tool needs, and he was doing more than ok on accounts of lapis and gold. Not to mention the insanely ludicrous amounts of redstone he’d acquired. He’d even managed across a few golden apples along the way. Really he was doing quite well for himself.

But he’d still found zero diamonds. And as useful as everything else might have been, it was the diamonds that he was after. And after days of caving without a single shiny blue rock to show for it, there was no way he was leaving without at least one diamond to his name. He was in too deep, and he had spent too much time, and he’ll be darned if he was going to leave now without getting what he came for.

He makes another swipe of his sword, this time slicing the blade through the wall of cobwebs before him. He had already disabled the spider spawner from whence they were surrounding, but just on the other side of the webbed wall he could see the outline of another minecart chest waiting to be plundered, and he needed all the loot he could get.

He slices through the remaining webbing, finally breaking free to the other side as he once again holds his torch aloft, illuminating the area and approaching the chest before him, all the while saying a silent prayer for the hope of even just a single diamond.

He crouches towards the floor, bringing himself more level with the prospected loot before reaching forward to rummage through the contents of the box.

Grian has just earned the achievement [DIAMONDS!]

Finally.

He scoops up 2 diamonds from the chest, pocketing the objects before turning on his heel. That was it. He was leaving. The two rocks might not have been enough for a pick, but 2 diamonds was certainly better than none, and he was more than ready to get the heck out of this cave. Maybe he would invest in a sword.

Or an enchanting table… He thinks idly, palming at a handful of lapis from somewhere within his pants pockets. Of course, there would be qualms with this plan as well. An enchanting table would require obsidian, which would be a particularly cumbersome item to obtain without a diamond pick, which he didn’t have. But maybe he would be lucky and come across a ruined portal topside. Maybe even a Village. He knew weapon smith chests had a chance of housing obsidian, or at the very least maybe he could trade with a tool smith for a pick. If he stuck around long enough and traded with enough of them he might even be able to get himself a full set of Diamond armour and tools, maybe even a weapon or two.

This was an ideal outcome, but one that depended entirely upon him getting out of this cave. Then he could worry about actually finding the structures in question, which he was almost positive would not be as easy as his fantasy made it sound. Regardless, he would still need to get to the surface. He was more than a bit tired of being underground where he was boxed in on all sides by walls of stone, wandering aimlessly for hours as his lungs breathed in the must-ridden air of a half collapsed tunnel. He wanted to be above ground where he could see more than 2 feet in front of him and where cave spiders didn’t drop on his head every 5 minutes. He wanted to breathe the fresh air and eat unspoiled food and see actual sunlight .

Ping!

Tango was slain by Phantom.

Or moonlight…moonlight’s good too…

Grian strides across the tunnel towards the wall, taking hold of the pickaxe from his belt before setting to work, tunnelling straight upwards. He wasn’t going to faff around with trying to find a natural exit. He felt he had been underground for long enough, and right now he just wanted a quick escape.

However, he hadn’t been digging for long when suddenly something unexpected falls from above amidst the shower of chipped rock. He immediately places a torch at his feet, expecting to disperse any gravel that might have fallen, only for the commodity to land directly on his face.

Something that felt of neither stone nor gravel.

He lets out a small yelp of surprise, his arm immediately flying upwards to swipe at whatever had just landed on him only to feel a sharp, burning sting as his hand grazes a set of barbed spines. He abruptly pulls his arm back at the sensation, the unknown entity now cascading towards the floor, and it is only now that he gets a good look at it.

And he groans.

Silverfish?! Really?!

He immediately takes hold of his sword, swiping at the pitiful looking creature flopping at his feet and putting it out of its misery. Silverfish had to be the derpiest mob in the game, one of which he was convinced, who’s sole purpose was to be nothing short of a public nuisance. They had low health, dealt a pitiful amount of damage, and otherwise provided nothing apart from annoyance to whomever came across them.  However, as annoying as they might have been, their appearance did in fact confirm one fact for him.

He must have been somewhere in the mountains.

He glances upwards, looking towards the hollow pillar of stone he had created above as he takes a moment to process the possible ramifications of this knowledge.

Mountains…great…

He removes the torch at his feet, pillaring upwards yet again and stopping just before his head can hit the ceiling, placing the torch once more before continuing to dig upwards. He supposed this was generally a good practice regardless. Falling gravel was always a risk whenever digging straight up, and so it was generally a good idea to employ the use of torches for the job. He just usually didn’t have the patience for it. He had always liked to live life more on the edge, but the thought of his two singular diamonds clattering away inside of his nearly full pockets makes him cautious today. After all, he imagined he was not particularly close to his spawn any longer, not that he had bothered to check his coordinates originally. But the fact that people had been dying of phantoms had suggested he had been underground for at least a few days if not more, and if he died due to falling debris now , he was sure he wouldn’t be able to make it back in time to reclaim his things. And now that his location had been confirmed as a set of mountains, where it was infinitely more likely that something would fall upon him, he would be darned if he was going to lose those diamonds now.

Another Silverfish falls from above and he immediately takes hold of his sword, prepared this time, simply allowing the creature to fall against his blade mid air before propelling it back with a final blow. He pulls up his communicator, checking the device for a set of coordinates as a shower of green orbs descends from above. He was just below ground level now, it shouldn’t be that much further to go. But then again, if he was in a set of mountains…

He digs up again, once more pillaring his way to where he hoped to find the surface. Break, two, three, four. Jump, two, three, four. Break, two, three, four. Jump, two, three, four…

He checks his communicator again. He was definitely above ground level now. Surely he would break through soon, right?

Break, two, three, four. Jump, two, three, four.

He continues on, now staring pointedly at the rock ceiling above in intense anticipation. Any time now…

Break, two, three, four. Jump, two, three, four…

I’m really going to come up directly in the middle of this mountain, aren’t I…

Break, two, three, four. Jump, two three four.

He continues this process several more times before seeing the tiniest glimmer of hope. He breaks a final piece of stone, sending a cascade of gravel down upon him, and he covers his face as the grains proceed to break apart at his feet, showering him in bits of rock and snow on their descent. He peaks upwards a moment later, seeing the tiniest fraction of black sky above him and he sighs with relief.

Finally.

The night air felt crisp and cold, the breeze pleasantly invigorating as he draws himself from his hole in the ground, breathing the cool air into his lungs. He can feel the cold against his throat, inside of his chest, contrasting harshly with the stale air of the caves. The opposition is refreshing, rejuvenating, shocking some life into his tired body and giving a much needed boost to his overall energy.

He feels something cold begin to melt against his scalp and he runs a hand through his hair, displacing several pebbles and shaking the remaining wetness of snow from his blond locks as he surveys his surroundings. He can see what looks to be the edge of a small spruce forest off in the distance, the trees shrouded in an eerie sort of mist that’s gathered at the base of the valley. The moon peaks its head above the haze covered boughs, streaking through the layered fog in reflective sheets of white, the very air around it appearing to glow as the rays bend and form around the microscopic beads of moisture in the air.

Hundreds of thousands of stars blink down upon him, like a Diamond encrusted sky. So dense in patches that an untrained eye might have mistaken them for clouds. If he looks close enough he can almost identify the odd planet, now just mere specks of light against the inky background.

It had been so long since he had seen so many stars. The server was always much too densely populated for many stars to be visible at night; when they actually got a night that was. Not that he particularly minded usually. He liked the proximity of places like the Shopping District where you were all but guaranteed to run into other people. He was a social person. Even his bases tended to be close by to at least one other Hermit. But lots of people meant lots of light pollution, which tended to mean less stars. But here, elevated on the top of the mountains, where there was but the light of the moon and not another person in sight, the sky was absolutely stunning.

He builds himself a small shack, clearing the snow from beneath its roof before taking a seat inside his makeshift shelter. He would set out again in the morning, but for now, he was going to wait out the night. He had probably garnered enough string to craft the wool for a bed, but he could sleep later. For just a while longer he wanted to enjoy the sky, to gaze upon its infinite wonders. He wraps his arms around his knees, resting his chin upon them as he gazes towards the cosmos. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the outline of another Mountain, and he takes a moment to admire its silhouette against the Diamond encrusted sky before squinting at the object. He cocks his head to the side, surveying its overall shape and pondering upon its familiarity.

You know, from this angle it kind of looks like pride rock…

Notes:

Me counting how many chapters I have to write before I can work on False chapters because I want to work on False chapters vs. Me counting how many chapters until the next Grian chapter because I don’t want to write the next Grian chapter 😅

Chapter 34: Stressmonster101

“So who do we know this far?”

Cub and Stress had continued their trek through the Nether, having taken off in the direction from whence the magma bridge had led them. Overall, she would have described the journey as being a fairly relative walk in the park. If by walk one meant traversing the terrain through means of being strapped to the back of a Hell beast. And by park one meant a seemingly endless lake of bubbling magma that would melt her skin from the bone upon contact. But really, minor details, right?

Stress had originally been concerned. Although, from a literary perspective, “originally” was probably a bad word to use, because god knows she was just living in a state of constant concern at this point. But she would, however, amend her previous statement to this: she was originally concerned about the Striders .

Now, she was not to be mistaken, because she was still greatly unsettled by the thought of having a sentient Hell beast bobbing up and down between her legs, it’s rather small body the only obstruction between herself and the bubbling facade of lava below her. But Stress had always had a special love for all of life’s creatures, provided of course they didn’t want to kill her, and she had been concerned on the effect their long journey would have upon the beasts. She understood that the typical stallion was in fact built as a unit of solid muscle, but the Striders just looked so small by comparison, and she had been worried they would eventually tire and strain under their weight. However, quite to the contrary, the Striders seemed relatively unperturbed by their riders, remaining just as sturdy as ever as they had quite happily continued to follow after her mushroom on a stick like a bunch of oversized cats chasing after a feather on a string.

“Ok, so we know that yous started in a Soul Sand Valley and that I started in a Bastion, and we figure that X probably started on that island in the middle of the lava lake and took off in this general direction.” She makes a very vague sort of gesture to the terrain before them, flailing her hand in a way that lacked all forms of precision as they walk the length of the coast, following the shore line along the banks of the crimson trees. She continues on. “That’s what we know in kind of concrete terms if we’re being particularly specific, and I mean that’s 3 of the 24 of us, but those are also the easy ones, mind.”

The pair had discovered land long ago, having hit the mass of terrain some while into their journey, having then discovered a single saddled strider upon the crimson bank. A single strider.

But no rider.

“Right. So let’s start at the top then. Day one. Who do we got?”

Stress pulls up her communicator, taking a moment to scroll all the way to the top of her notifications before speaking again. “Kay, so first death goes to Bdubs, who we know started at one of them Ocean Monuments, and as of right now also happens to be with Scar, Ren, and Cleo.”

“We also know that Ren and Cleo both started in the End and that Scar was at the very least somewhere in the Overworld.” Cub interjects, and Stress nods.

“Scar ain’t died yet, but his first achievement was for finding a shipwreck, so I reckon he was at least near an Ocean, which I suppose would make sense for him.”

“Hm. Knowing the amount of resources that man goes through, an Ocean would be a pretty bad place for him to start.”

Stress nods her agreement. The pair continue on.

“Right. Who’s next?”

Stress squints down at her screen once more, reading the next name on their list. “Hmm…Hypno. Died to lava. Then burnt to death. Then died to lava.”

“Well, he’s not in the End, so that at the very least eliminates one dimension.”

“You think there’s actually anyone left in the End?” Cub turns towards her, raising a questioning eyebrow. Stress scrolls further down her screen, brow furrowing in concentration before stopping at the notification she was looking for. “I mean look here.” She points to a message amidst the string of text. Cub cranes his neck to look at her display. “Cleo was slain by the Dragon and then Ren was killed by a Shulker.” She looks up. “I mean, I don’t really go to the End that often either, but that death don’t particularly seem like an accident, right?”

“You’re not wrong.” He agrees. “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen someone die from a Shulker bullet before, it’s more common to be killed due to fall damage, so unless he was already super low on health, he probably purposefully tried to get that particular death message as a way of communicating his location to Cleo.”

Stress nods. “Right, so if they were using deaths to communicate, wouldn’t that have been the perfect time to, I dunno, die? I mean, if there really was someone else in the End, all they would have had to do was jump in the void, right? I mean, I know that all the dimensions technically have a void, but you can’t get to it in the Nether or the Overworld without whatever TNT pistonry magic nonsense, and how many of us actually know how to do that?”

“Fair.” Cub pulls up his own communicator now, scrolling to the top of his screen just as she had done before him. “Hypno’s a bit of an odd one. He has no achievements and the only thing he’s really died to is lava or burning to death.” He frowns. “Which could technically also be a byproduct of lava.”

She hums. “I mean, it’s possible he’s in the Nether, but there’s lava in the Overworld too, yeah? Caves, Deserts, those random lava pools that spawn on the surface. Hell, even them blacksmith houses in Villages that’s got one of those forge ‘fingies.” She shakes her head. “He could be any numbers of places.

Cub makes a face. “Skip it. There’s too many possibilities. We can’t narrow anything down.”

She sighs, glancing at the messages on her screen from where she had left off, her eyes drifting to a name that’s stationed there just a couple of notifications down. “Alright. Since we’re on the topic we might as well mention Joe.”

“Ah yes. Mr. Hills himself. Thoughts?”

She contemplates, scrolling up and down as she searches for each of the mans past notifications. If only her communicator could isolate deaths based on the individual... “Well, we know that Joe is somewhere in the Overworld, and based off of the number of mob related deaths, I’d wager that he at the very least started somewhere underground.”

Cub nods. “Right. And that death by Silverfish really narrows it down as well.”

“Hm. Based off of the knowledge we currently have, I’d wager he either started in a cave in the Mountains or somewhere inside a Stronghold.”

“Although for his sake I hope it’s the later.” Cub slings a thumb through his belt loop, allowing the hand to hang loosely there as they continue on. “Strongholds are at least trackable.”

“Right, with them Ender Eye things.” She had almost forgotten the eyes could locate Strongholds. It had been so long since she’d actually needed to track one down. Their only real use was as a gateway to The End, and she tended to avoid that dimension just as much as the one she currently occupied. The only thing that side of the cosmos might have housed that would have been of interest to her was the shulker boxes, maybe even the odd set of wings. But being part of a community server did in fact have its perks. Shopping, for instance. “You think he stayed put?”

Cub shrugs, scuffing a mushroom along the ground with his foot. “Probably. Joe’s smart. And looking at the other death messages that happened at the same time as that Silverfish, I recon that was him trying to communicate with Cleo.”

Stress hums but otherwise remains silent, contemplating further as she glances towards the crimson forest warily, as if searching for signs of danger. The Warped Forest had been one thing, but the Crimson Forest was quite another. The Warped variant had seemed fake. Imitation. Designed as nothing more than a way of bewitching the mind, stimulating the senses. It was designed to confuse, to ensnare. To make you walk for hours on end, deeper and deeper into its heart where the forest would engulf you into madness until you forgot your own name. But that is not what she experiences now. The Warped Forest had felt dead. But this here? This forest was alive .

And it was difficult to describe her level of discomfort, because in all honesty the two biomes didn’t look that much different. The trees here had that same gnarled bark, the same oozing sap, the same squelch of mulch beneath her feet. Really, aside from colour, the pair had seemed quite similar. But it was the energy . All around her she could feel it, radiating throughout the air, through the trees, the ground. The very air felt alive, which she supposed shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise to her. After all, things were supposed to live here. The Hoglins, the Piglins, the Pigmen, the Striders. No, what puts her at unease now however, is the noted lack of said life. The Warped Forest was made to feel empty, haunting. But that same emptiness here?

Cub scrolls back to the top of his device. “Ok….Tango.”

Stress pries her eyes from the tree line, clutching at the pommel of her sword with her right hand and lifting her communicator with her left, turning her attention back to the device. “Well, up until recently the only real clue we had was that he fell from a high place, which wasn’t really much to go on until we got this,” she scrolls down to the bottom again, stopping once she has found the message she was looking for. She traces the underside of the message with her thumb. “He was killed by a phantom, which at the very least would put him somewhere above sea level in the Overworld. And the fact that his first batch of death messages was due to falling from a high place…”

“We thinking Mountains? Or some variant thereof?”

“Sounds likely.” She scrolls to the top again. “Jevin?”

“Skeleton Dungeon. There’s no way he died that many times to a single mob in such quick succession that he started anywhere but in a Dungeon.”

“Haven’t seen him die in a while tho...”

“It’s possible he got out. Maybe he got really lucky and broke the spawner?”

“Maybe…”

She looks towards the trees again, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she looks out into the seemingly empty forest. She grips the pommel tighter.

“The only thing that Impulse seems to have died to is Iron Golems, but that would suggest that he’s somewhere in a Village, which doesn’t seem right.” Cub frowns down at his display. “He practically wrote the book on villagers, I thought the last place he would be was anywhere even remotely near a village.”

Stress pauses. “Unless...”

Cub comes to a stop beside her. “Unless?” He prompts.

“Unless the villagers are somehow being used against him.” She continues.

Cub cocks his head to the side, raising a questioning eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Well Villages function on reputation points, right?” She looks towards her companion for validation and he shrugs, nodding for her to continue. She looks away once more. “If he somehow got enough bad reputation it would kind of throw a wrench into his whole villager business, wouldn’t it? And it would explain why he keeps dying to them Iron Geezers.” She looks up again. “You get enough bad reputation and they stay mad at you until you get enough good reputation, even if you die, yeah?

Cub shrugs, mulling over the idea in his head. “It makes sense, but what on earth would he have done to get so much bad reputation?”

“Dunno. Maybe he hit a villager or something.”

“15 times?”

“Do you feel like we’re being watched right now?”

She turns around completely now, glancing behind her, towards the lava lake, through the twisted boughs of the crimson trees. Everything is still, silent. Not a single mob in sight. Cub pauses, following her eye movements, but he too sees nothing.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, I just-“ she looks around once more, that uneasy feeling rising from the pits of her stomach, instead choosing to settle as an awkward sort of weight against her chest, pressing and squeezing and uncomfortable . She looks around once more, but once again, she sees nothing there. She shakes her head. “Nevermind…my imagination.”

Cub looks at her for a moment more before turning his attention back to his communicator, once again scrolling up to find the next person on their list.

“What about False?” She says suddenly.

Cub shakes his head. “Not enough information. She has no deaths, no achievements. There’s nothing to go on.”

“Seems weird though.” Stress frowns, slinging her left hand through the pocket of her cardigan as she glowers towards the ground. She stares distractedly at a point somewhere off in the distance, her eyes hazy as if lost in thought. She shakes her head and her frown deepens. “Somefing’s wrong.”

Cub glances sideways at the woman, raising a questioning eyebrow. “How so?”

“I mean, the no deaths don’t surprise me, I mean it’s False after all. But no achievements? Not even wood?” She takes out her communicator again, thumbing her way through the pages of notifications just to be sure, the strings of text flying across the screen in a blur of words as she looks for something, anything , that might have given them some sort of clue. She shakes her head again. “Cub, she’s not killed a single mob, it ain’t like her.”

She thinks hard. False had never been one of the frequent dyers, her skill with a blade tended to see to that. But the fact that the woman had yet to kill a single mob almost suggested that she hadn’t encountered any, and with no deaths, achievements, or otherwise notifications of any kind…She frowns. “I mean, it’s almost like she-“

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Because in that moment, something descends through the air, striking her square on the head, and her phrase is cut off abruptly by her own scream of panic.

Cubs bow is in his hand in an instant, an arrow already knocked and poised to strike, the man suddenly looking much more alert as he looks frantically for whatever had caused her apparent distress. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Somefing just hit me!”

“Hit you?”

Stress nods. “Yeah! Felt somefing hit me head!”

Cub peers from side to side, searching for any sign of approaching danger, but he sees nothing. Only forest. He turns towards her once he is sure the way is clear, a look of concern now dawning his features as he takes a step closer, examining her carefully as if searching for signs of wayward arrows, but once again, he sees nothing. “Are you hurt?”

Stress blinks, reaching upwards to grasp at her head before retracting her arm, staring down at her hands as if searching for sighs of blood, but she sees none. She turns her hands over several times to be sure, but there is nothing. She frowns.

Was she hurt? She certainly didn’t feel hurt. In fact, now that she was thinking of it, whatever had struck her hadn’t particularly hurt at all. Scared the Hell out of her, yes. But hurt?

“…No.” She eventually manages to say, sounding almost shocked by that statement herself, as if she was genuinely surprised at the answer. She opens her mouth as if to speak again, but no sound comes out, merely gaping like a fish as her tongue refuses to form coherent words. She shakes her head as if to clear it, blinking rapidly several times as her body slowly recovers from the initial shock. She had always been easily startled, and she had already been on edge, and she was more than a little bit certain that the little jump scare had done nothing whatsoever to help calm her nerves. She closes her eyes, grounding herself in the moment as she breaths deeply through her nose, coaxing her heart rate into a more perpetual state of being before speaking again. “…No, it didn’t hurt me.“

Cub watches her for a moment more, as if to be sure she really was ok, before relaxing the tension in his bow, lowering the weapon ever so slightly, but still not fully releasing it from his grasp. “What was it?”

Stress shakes her head once more. “I dunno. Scared the life outta me though. I just felt somefing land on me head.”

As if on cue, another object descends from the heavens, the item spiralling downwards and flopping against the ground with a muted sort of thump, this time coming to rest mere feet from their current position. Two sets of eyes blink down at the commodity.

“Something like that?”

The pair approach the crash site warily, Cub bending down to examine the object in his hand, and Stress squints down at the item now within his grasp. “…Is that a mushroom?”

“Pst!”

Her head snaps up instantly, instinctively taking a step towards her companion as her head darts from side to side like a jittery cat, scouring the trees for the source of whatever new sound had just presented itself to them. “Did you just..?”

Another mushroom lands at their feet, and both turn to blink down at the new addition, confused.

“Pst!”

She hears again, once more looking up to search for the source of the odd sound, but she sees nothing. Merely the twisted trunks of the crimson trees. “Where is that coming from?”

“Up here!”

She turns towards the forest once more, this time directing her gaze upwards, her eyes roaming over the boughs before she finally, finally spots a dark figure amongst the branches, squinting towards it. She grins widely before the pair speak in tandem.

“ Xisuma!! ”

“SHHHHHHHH!!!”

She clamps her mouth shut in an instant, Xisuma shifting on his branch, the man turning to look behind himself frantically before disappearing into the trees once more. Cub meets her eye, raising a questioning eyebrow and looking just as confused as she felt. “What was that about?”

A moment later, X reappears, his head suspended amongst the branches. He holds a finger to his lips, waving his hand in a beaconing gesture before vanishing in a rustle of leaves once again. Stress looks at Cub. Cub looks at Stress. Cub shrugs.

They approach the base of a tree and then stop, looking up towards the branches for any sign of Xisuma.

“X?” She calls out after a moment, the man having failed to show himself again.

“Come up! Quickly!”

Cub looks at her again before shrugging once more, taking hold of a red hanging vine and hoisting himself into the tree. Stress follows suit, climbing upwards and settling herself on a large branch beside her companion, glancing back towards the ground with a look of obvious concern.

“What is it with you guys and sneaking around in the trees…”

The head of Xisuma appears seconds later amidst a patch of leaves, eyes wide with excitement from beneath his visor, and even through the hush of his words she can hear the obvious enthusiasm as he speaks.

“Sorry about that! It’s probably fine, but I wanted to be cautious, you know, you can never be too careful, but I can’t believe that you found me!”

“Why are we whispering?”

In lieu of a response, Xisuma simply reaches forward, parting a thatch of leaves and pointing down towards a large clearing of Netherrack field below. Stress follows his gaze, her jaw hitting the floor and her eyes swelling to the size of saucers as she stares down at the clearing below with a demeanour of fear, gripping the branch beneath her more tightly for support.

“Oh god…”

And from somewhere beside her, Cub speaks. And although she isn’t looking at him, she could picture his face. Can hear the expression in his voice as he says the very thing that was on her mind.

“Now that…is a lot of Hoglins.”

Chapter 35: FalseSymmetry

Notes:

This chapter may or may not just be the self-indulgence of the musician in me selfishly wanting False to sing more because she literally never does and I would like a singing False in my life

For inquiring minds, the song she is singing is Escapism by Rebecca Sugar :)

“I guess I have to face, that in this awful place, I shouldn’t show a trace of doubt...” False sings to herself. It was something she had taken to doing rather frequently here - not that there was really much else for her to do. The Nether roof was boring and vast and otherwise bloody empty, and with literally nothing better to do, it was at least something that filled a bit of her time.

“ But pulled against the grain, I feel a little pain, that I would rather do without… ”

False had never been much of a singer. Not really anyway. Music was something that she just generally left alone. Not to say she didn’t enjoy listening to it, but it was something that she just generally didn’t produce by herself - False was no musician. She could hold a tune and she understood the basic concept of rhythm, but otherwise she got about as far as two pitches sounding pleasurable in sequence before her understanding came to an end. Key signatures confused her, she couldn’t tell you why notes were grouped here or there, and giving her a set of sheet music was expected to be about as successful as teaching a cat to read Hieratic.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t capable , because she did in fact have a nice enough singing voice when she wanted to. It was just that she never did. She never particularly felt the urge, which was fine enough by her. The other Hermits often more than made up for her lack of musical affiliation anyhow.

Xisuma had always been their resident music nerd, Beef often centred his entire business practices around the sales of instruments and album art, and more often than not Scar could be heard humming some chorus of a Disney song as he worked away on his various projects. Then you had the unapologetic singers like a Wels or an Iskall who were know server-wide for their one-man renditions of various popular or otherwise well-know sea shanties, sometimes even in Swedish in the case of the latter. Stress often sang to herself as she worked away in her gardens, Cleo could recite most any musical one could think of, and even Grian had been known to throw a string of words together in a melody of his own devising, making up songs to set to whatever task was currently at hand - something that False was not even going to try and attempt.

But as much as the activity might not have normally fallen under the category of her daily reservoir, her singing now did in fact serve a concrete purpose aside from simply the passage of time.

It served to fill the silence .

The silence was what was going to kill her. It was hard enough being stuck in a desolate environment where she couldn’t even so much as watch the grass grow to pass the time, but the persistent quiet was what was going to drive her bloody insane . And she did mean that rather literally. She knew what complete silence did to a person, and she knew the statistics of how long one could realistically go. And False had always been a fighter. She was strong. She was stubborn. She was resilient . But she knew that even she couldn’t last in this environment forever. Eventually, the silence would be too much for her. Just like anyone else.

And so she was going to sing. She was going to sing until her voice was raw and her tongue gone dry and until she could no longer coax so much as a solitary rasp of sound from the depths of her throat. She was going to sing because even though she didn’t have her sword, False would always do what False did best. She was going to fight . She was going to fight the deafening silence with sound , because even if she could do nothing else, she was going to fight for her sanity . She was going to sing because in a world that was designed to be against her from the start, what else was there to do?

“ I’d rather be freeeeee, freeeeee, free… ” She continues on.

“So who do we know this far?”

Her singing stops at the sound of Cub’s voice, adjusting her current trajectory just slightly as she follows the direction from whence the voice had come, listening. She had been following her friends for some time, listening to their voices through the bedrock and tracking them along via sound, as if some weird adaptation of a reverse echolocation. If she listened hard enough she could sometimes even hear their individual footsteps trudging along beneath her. The scuff of a shoe, the snap of a twig, the squelch of the ground. Anything that pointed her in the right direction.

“Ok, so we know that yous started in a Soul Sand Valley and that I started in a Bastion, and we figure that X probably started-“ False listens on.

She had long since given up trying to speak with them. Or more like yell in their general direction in her particular case. It had become plainly apparent that whatever she tried was quite frankly a moot point. Jumping, yelling, kicking, pounding or whatever iteration or combination thereof. Nothing worked. They heard nothing above the Nether Roof, but still, she followed after them. Always listening, but never heard.

“Kay, so first death goes to Bdubs, who we know started at one of them Ocean Monuments-“

It helped a bit. Hearing their voices. It made her feel less lost. Not so alone. Almost like she really was right there, thinking and strategizing alongside them. If she just closed her eyes she could almost picture them walking there beside her, close enough to touch. Like if she just extended her hand ever so slightly she would feel a brush of fingers, a bump of a shoulder, a rustle of fabric. And it wasn’t much. Just a simple one-way conversation filtered through the cracks of the bedrock. But hearing the voices of her friends, knowing they were ok, giving her that sense of familiarity, of comfort, of home …it was enough to keep her sane . And if nothing else, the additional source of sound at least allowed her to rest her voice, even if only for a short while.

“Well, we know that Joe is somewhere in the Overworld-“

Logically speaking, she knew that this wouldn’t continue forever. After all, the entire goal of the game was for them to find each other. The rest of her friends would be scattered about who knows where, and she was sure that the majority of the people remaining weren’t likely to be anywhere close, and those that were likely weren’t going to be staying for long. Cub and Stress would eventually find their way out of the Nether, making their way to the Overworld where they would continue their search for the others, leaving her here alone in the silence with nothing but her thoughts and the sound of her strangled singing to break it…

Her footsteps slow to a stop, the bottom of her boot scuffing the ground dejectedly as the thought hits her, her eyes glancing somewhere at the ground in front of her, hazy as she is lost in thought. Looking, but not really seeing.

“Jevin?”

“Skeleton Dungeon. There’s no way he died that many times to a single mob in such quick succession that he started anywhere but in a Dungeon.”

She shakes her head, once more adjusting her trajectory and following after the voices below. She could think about all of that later - she was sure she would have ample time on her hands. But right now, all that mattered was that they were here . Her friends may not have been able to see her, or hear her, or really even knew she was there at all, but they were still here . She was still with them. And although there might not have been a mutual knowledge of her presence, just hearing the sound of their voices was enough to keep her going. And right now, that was enough.

“Well Villages function on reputation points, right?”

She walks forward, twirling her trademark goggles absentmindedly around her finger by the strap, spotting a flash of red out of the corner of her eye, and she looks towards the colour. She crouches down, examining a patch of 3 solitary mushrooms that disturbed the flat surface of the bedrock, and she reaches forward to pluck the fungi from their resting place, taking them into her hands. The only known commodity to spawn naturally atop this shelf of otherwise barren stone.

Maybe I’ll take up juggling… She muses idly, tossing a single mushroom into the air and catching it expertly before examining its surface, twirling the stem between her fingers. She hums, once more taking hold of her goggles, this time loading the same mushroom into the curved socket of the glass lens and hooking her left pointer finger over the bridge. Her other hand grasps as the strap, aiming the accessory at an indistinguishable point in the distance like a slingshot and launching the fungus into the air. The tiniest fraction of a smile twitches at the corners of her lips as the object touches down a good 50 feet away, and the blonde walks forward to reclaim it once again, pocketing the remaining two mushrooms still in her possession.

“What about False?”

False’s hand halts in its place, her fingertips just barely grazing the red skin of the mushroom as they hover there, perking up slightly at the sudden mention of her name. She turns an ear inwards as she listens on.

“Not enough information. She has no deaths, no achievements. There’s nothing to go on.”

It took everything she had not to give in to that suggestion. Because she could in fact change that at this very moment. Because while she might not have been able to get any achievements, she did still have one singular means of sending notifications to the other Hermits.

Starving.

She could starve herself. Repeatedly. Over and over in a loop until it was obvious she was trying to send a message. The others would at least know she needed help, and they had to eventually be able to work out at least a rough location from that. If she had no achievements or otherwise other notifications, that had to narrow down the search, right? And if she did it now , suspiciously right after Cub had mentioned her lack of deaths…

“Somefing’s wrong.”

“How so?”

She groans internally. She couldn’t. Not now. It was too big of a risk. Her plan depended entirely on the fact that Cub and Stress would be able to work out her location immediately, and there was no guarantee of that happening. After all, starving was a very open ended way of dying, and there was no guarantee that would be enough to convince them to look for her here. Even then, it was too early. People definitely wouldn’t have the resources available needed to get to her anyway. That, and once she died, she would be gone. They would be gone. She had to be thousands of miles away from her spawn by now, and even if she remembered the coordinates she was currently at, there was no way she would be able to catch up with Cub and Stress again. They would be gone, and she would be alone. And right now, that thought scared her more than anything else. And if she could put off that fear, even if just for a little while longer…

“Cub, she’s not killed a single mob, it ain’t like her.”

She stares down at the floor below her. She might not have been willing to leave them just yet, but maybe if they could be made to think about it a little…after all, if she didn’t have any deaths or achievements, that had to suggest something, right? If she hadn’t made any progress that would almost suggest that she’s in an environment where progress is impossible. That was something, wasn’t it? 

“Yes. Come on. Think Stress.” She listens intently, staring hard at the floor.

“I mean…it’s almost like she- AYYYYY!! ”

“ Stress! ” False lurches forward despite herself, her hand slamming against the bedrock as she instinctively tries to reach for her friend, growling in frustration when she is inevitably blocked by the sheet of unbreakable stone. “Stress!” She tries again, her open palm striking against the surface beneath her, but she knows her efforts are futile. They still couldn’t hear her.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Something just hit me!”

“Hit you?”

“Yeah! Felt somefing hit me head!”

She stares hard at the bedrock below, like if she just concentrated hard enough she could will the rock into moving, but still it remains. It doesn’t budge. Her nails drag roughly against the stone roof like claws as she bunches her hand into a tight fist, clenching hard until her knuckles turn white.

Useless. She was useless here. Stress was in trouble, and she could do nothing but listen to the sounds of her screams. It was like the worst sort of torture she could have possibly imagined. And she could cope with torture. She could withstand broken bones, she could endure lacerations. But putting her friends in danger? Listening to them suffer when she knew she could do nothing about it? It was the worse possible pain she could have felt.

“Are you hurt?”

She listens again, waiting with weighted anticipation for several long moments before she hears a response.

“…No…no it didn’t hurt me.”

False sighs heavily, leaning back against the charred stone with a flop, shifting to sit cross legged on the ground before shaking her head. “Stop giving me heart attacks, woman, jeez.” She rakes a hand through her hair, staring pointedly at the ground as if attempting to see right through it. She sighs again. “I know you can’t hear me, but none of you are allowed to die down there, alright?”

“What was it?”

“I dunno. Scared the life outta me though. I just felt somefing land on me head.”

She sighs again, leaning back slightly as she allows herself this brief moment of rest. The voices had stopped moving, which meant she could afford to give her legs this bit of a break - she had been walking for quite a while after all.

“Xisuma!”

She hears from below, a muted sort of hush following soon after. She concentrates a bit harder, listening for the muffled movement of the ensuing footfalls, shuffling herself along the ground as she follows after them.

“Sorry about that! It’s probably fine, but I wanted to be cautious, you know, you can never be too careful, but I can’t believe that you found me!”

She smiles lightly. So they had found Xisuma. Slowly but surely they were starting to regroup. Slowly but surly they were finding each other. She palms at the mushroom still in her pocket, twisting the cap between her fingers.

“You’ve got this guys.”

And with the voices died down once more, she once again turns her attention from the ground, continuing her own rendition of a song that echos back at her into the nothingness.

“ I’d rather be freeee, freeee, free…from here... ”

Chapter 36: Xisuma

Notes:

Y’all remember when I said I hated writing dialogue?

Bloody dialogue everywhere.

Again, I know I’m late. I was originally planning for this chapter to be a Zedaph chapter and then changed my mind at the last minute. Figured I should keep the Nether people together for consistency sake. Did mean I had to do a bit of chapter shuffling, but it’s fine! Have also been very busy at work and school, so sorry for the lack of updates 😅

“Alright, I’ve secured the area.” Xisuma clambers back into his tree, the man hoisting himself up by the weeping vines and settling himself on the branch once more. He had cordoned off the area, sectioning off the general vicinity with a cluster of crimson fencing that stretched back into the forest, wrapping around their current thatch of trees and circling back until it hit the lava bank along the coast. It was by no means a large expanse, certainly small by Hermit standards. A simple starter base from Scar would undoubtedly dwarf the vicinity, but then, that was hardly a fair comparison. It was Scar after all. But “small” had its advantages - defence, for instance. “The Hoglins shouldn’t be able to get through here.”

“So what do we do now?” Stress glances towards him as he approaches, Xisuma inching his way along the branch towards her as he joins the duo perched there. Cub similarly inclines his head in his direction, merely nodding a greeting as he takes his place in their circle. Stress looks between the two men. “Just wait for them to leave?”

Cub nods. “Probably our best bet. We can’t go back the way we came. Well, we could , but there wouldn’t be much point. And we’ll likely only run into more mobs if we go deeper into the forest.” Cub glances towards Xisuma, raising an eyebrow in askance, continuing only when the man makes no immediate interjections or arguments. “I recon our best bet is to wait for the Hoglins to move on and stick to the coast.”

“So what do we do while we wait?”

Cub hums, slinging a single leg off the edge of their branch platform and looking out towards the lava lake in thought. “If only we had a Diamond pick. This is the perfect spot to dig for some ancient debris.”

“Ooo! I got one of those!” Stress exclaims, immediately beginning to rummage through her pockets, producing the pickaxe that she had pillaged from her Bastion what felt like so long ago now. She holds the tool in front of her as if in offering, displaying the pale blue of the Diamond encrusted head for her friends to see. “Nicked it from ma’ Bastion ages ago. Only got one though. That ain’t enough for all 3 of us.

“I’ve got an idea.” Xisuma interjects, two sets of eyes now turning to give him their attention. “That is, if you’d like to contribute your pick to the cause, of course.” He adds, bowing his head towards Stress and looking for her ok. “We could do a bit of divide and conquering.”

Cub and Stress both look at each other before shrugging. “Go on.”

Xisuma continues. “One of us could use the pick and go on a bit of a dig for some resources, and I might have a project for the other two topside that could just solve our problem entirely.” He pauses. “Well, I mean, at least one  of our problems.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, the Piglins trade the obsidian we need to make a portal, which means we’re going to need gold. And we happen to have a convenient stretch of open lava lake close by.”

A beat.

Stress’ eyes go wide. “Oh good goddens, you want to make a farm?! Here?! ”

“Why not? It’s as good a spot as any. And we’re going to need to make a portal at some point.”

“Slight problem with that.” Xisuma turns to look at Cub. “There’s 3 of us. If any of us hits a Pigman, they’ll be aggressive to all of us, not just the one who attacked them.

“Yeah, that seems like a bit of a recipe for disaster when at least 2 of the 3 of us don’t have a spawn set anywhere even remotely close by.” Stress agrees quickly, leaning closer to Cub and side-eying a Pigman that wanders by beneath them.

“Not if we aren’t the ones doing the attacking.” Xisuma reasons. “The Pigman are neutral to everything unless they are attacked first, so all we need is for something to hit them.”

“Yeah, but is there anything that attacks them naturally?”

“Not that we can access, but we might be able to coax some of the other mobs with a bit of…persuasion.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Simple. We just gotta use a bit of misdirection. If one of us can position ourselves in front of a Pigman in such a way, and then get something else to shoot at us and miss… we have ourselves a target.”

Cub hums, scratching the underside of his beard in thought. “Interesting. In theory it should work just the same as any other gold farm. Only, none of the agroed Pigmen would be mad at us.”

“Exactly. In theory, we wouldn’t even need to be in the chamber. Granted, we’d still need to stay in the general vicinity, but if we built the platforms just off shore and then spawn proofed along the coast, we could still move around down here and have gold producing over there.” He shifts his hand to grasp at the back of his neck. “I mean, it probably won’t be the most efficient thing on the planet, but it’s better than nothing.”

Cub nods. “So what’s the plan?”

“It should work out perfectly. One of us can dig for materials, one of us can start spawn proofing the area, and the other can corral the mobs we need.”

“Right, if you need a digger, I volunteer as tribute.”

Two sets of eyes turn to look at Stress. “You wanna go down there?”

“You sure?” Xisuma looks over at the woman, eyes roaming over her face as if trying to read her. “You don’t need to be the digger just cause it’s your pick. If you’d prefer to work up here, one of us can dig instead. I promise I’ll replace your pick once we get to the Overworld.” He raises a hand at shoulder level, the other tracing the lines of an X against his chest with its pointer finger. “On my word.”

Stress shakes her head. “To be honest, I’d rather take me chances underground, fanks. I ain’t about moving mobs and fings if I’m honest wif meself. And them geezers pack a wallop.”

X studies her closely, looking for signs of discomfort or malcontent with her decision. After all, he knew how much she hated the Nether, and being underground was hardly safer than the surface. There were lava pockets everywhere, and the molten magma flowed much more quickly here in its home dimension. Strip mining here was hardly what one would consider safe.

But he hadn’t missed the way her arm had moved over her abdomen. A subtle enough shift, one that an untrained eye might have almost presumed to be innocent. But X knew better. Because he knew her. Because the Hermits, if nothing else, knew each other. They knew their ticks and tricks and minute nuances. And he hadn’t missed the subtle way the appendage had shifted, moving ever so slightly forward, as if to shield the now healed gash in her side.

Wounds were a bit of a funny thing. The Hermits didn’t endure cuts or broken bones. They rarely got bumps or bruises or swelling of any kind. Provided of course that they had enough energy to sustain the healing process, the nature of their regeneration meant that they rarely retained any sort of injury for more than a few seconds. But there were some wounds that were worse than others. Some cuts went deeper. Hurt more. And looking at the deep red of the blood stained fabric, although he was sure she couldn’t feel it anymore, he imagined she remembered that one.

Xisuma nods. “Ok. We’re going to need some other materials too. We’re going to need a lot of magma blocks for the platforms, and if you happen to come across some blackstone we can use it to make a furnace and then smelt down the swords for more gold. We’re working with severely limited resources and we’re going to need all the gold we can get if we want to get enough obsidian for a portal.”

Stress smiles. “I’ll do me best.”

Cub nods. “Right. I’ll lure the mobs over then.”

Xisuma shakes his head. “No. I’ll do it. Of all the tasks, corralling the mobs has the highest risk of death. Let me do it.” Cub opens his mouth as if to protest, but X simply shakes his head again. “My spawns closest, and both of you know where it is. We’ll have a better chance of regrouping if I die.” He reasons. 

He looks at Cub, the pair continuing their silent staring contest as each locks eyes with the other. He could tell that Cub didn’t particularly like the idea. Anymore than X didn’t particularly like the alternative. The three of them had only just found each other, and he figured Cub didn’t like the possibility of them being separated again so soon anymore than he did.

Of course, logically speaking, he knew they had all been in the Nether before, albeit under less extenuating circumstances. The Hermits enjoyed each other’s company, but they weren’t always together. After all, each person had their own projects, their own goals, and although it wasn’t uncommon for some of them to house together, others preferred to keep to themselves, which was fine. Even the most social of them was no stranger to the solitude of endless mining - they called themselves Hermits for a reason. But the connotations of this particular game had them cautious. They weren’t playing under normal rules, and although they were technically allowed to proceed as they wished, the end goal was still the same. None of them could leave until the last Hermit was found, but Cub knew, as much as he might not have liked to admit it, that Xisuma had a point. If he died, him and Stress would have no way of getting to him. They didn’t know his spawn, and wouldn’t be able to help him. But he could help Xisuma.

Cub sighs, relenting as he nods his agreement. “Ok.”

Xisuma nods. “If I wrangle up the mobs, you think you can start spawn proofing the area?”

Cub smiles slyly, raising two fingers to his temple in a short salute. “You got it, boss.”

“Right.” Xisuma stands, brushing the dirt from his pants and straightening his back as he looks down at his friends with a renewed sense of purpose. “Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter 37: Zedaph

Notes:

So this is where we start deviating from the rules of Minecraft a bit. I was really hoping the next game update would be out before I had to write this, because as of right now I have no way of testing these features, so there are probably going to be many many discrepancies in the future.

Also I tried to math somewhere in the middle. I do not math. I tried very hard, so to any math and/or science people who happen to be reading, I apologize in advance.

Waiting. For several long moments he is waiting. Waiting in silent anticipation for whatever was about to happen.

He sees nothing. Feels nothing. Not heat nor cold nor twitch or tingle. All is dark, silent. Nothing stirs or sounds, as if floating in an endless void, far beyond the visible planes of existence so deep into the darkness that one could never even hope to see the light. He briefly wonders if this is what death feels like. In a world where death was finite, where one could live a thousand lives in one and would continue to do so only until they themselves decided that their very beings should cease to exist in the world, was this really how life ended for them? Not with pearly gates or hellfire, but with darkness. Oblivion.

He waits. Silently in the darkness, he waits. Waiting in moments that could only have lasted seconds, and yet somehow felt as if they would last forever. What was taking so long? Surely the world should be loaded by now. Were they still looking for a spot for him? It had never taken this long before. In fact, he is just started to chock up the unexpectedly long delay as simply an act of extended server lag when he finally hears his first sound.

Ping!

One solitary ping echos back into the darkness. A prominent ringing suspended through the air, blatant and piercing and loud . It fills the air like a cacophony of sound. Like a pebble dropped in water, creating ripple after ripple along the surface as they flow outwards from their centre, marring the glassy facade until each has reached the edge of the basin, tumbling back as only a mere echo of their former glory until fading into the nothingness.

He stands perfectly still, waiting until the ringing has been swallowed by the darkness before flexing his fingers experimentally, hearing only the vaguest rustle of fabric as his body shifts in its place. He slowly moves his arm in front of his body, clenching his hand into a ball and twisting at the wrist. He loosens his grip, waggling each of the five digits before what he assumed to be the general location of his face, but he sees nothing but black.

I guess we’ve started…

Ping!

Another ping draws his attention and his head instinctively turns towards the source, not that he could particularly see anything at the moment. His chin angles downward in the vaguest of directions of where he knew his communicator to be, his hand travelling downwards over his stomach, past his waist, before grasping at the bulge in his front right hand pocket, feeling the distinctive shape of the device through the fabric. His eyes feel large, wide, blinking rapidly as if to force them to adjust, straining to see even the faintest of shadows of silhouettes or anything at all really, but still there is nothing. The darkness remains.

I wonder…

His hand fiddles at his side, pulling his communicator from his pocket and holding the device before him, feeling blindly up its side.

Where’s the button… there!

White . His vision is flooded with white . Glaringly sharp and blinding, piercing his eyeballs like daggers, so blindingly bright that it hurts. He jerks his hand back quickly, the device slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor as he flinches away from the sea of white. He imagines this is how the zombies must feel at dawn, and he briefly wonders if this is just how Cleo exists on the regular.

His hands migrate to his face, rubbing at his eyes as they slowly adjust to the new addition of light. He can see his communicator laying a few feet away, the white screen casting a dull sort of glow across the floor, creating the barest of shadows as the light bends and forms around the small pebbles against the surface. It’s not enough to fully illuminate the area, and yet somehow manages to be just enough to be obnoxious, and he squints towards the device all the while thinking of how this sort of exposure could not possibly be good for his eyes.

Ping!

His communicator sounds for a third time and he squints down towards the contraption, just being able to make out the vaguest shapes of words as the new message settles itself on the screen with the others. Had there been deaths already? Another ping sounds throughout the room and then another, followed closely by the addition of two new messages across his screen.

Man, I’m really glad I’m not in your position right now…

Although as to what position he was currently in was hard to say. The small addition of light hadn’t particularly changed much of his perspective. Aside from the small radius of glow around his screen, everything else was still surrounded by darkness, and really the light felt much less bright now that he had gotten used to it.

He crouches down, reaching for his device and checking his coordinates.

He was low. Low low. Below lava lakes and diamond veins, all the way at the very bottom of the world. He couldn’t remember ever having been this far down before, but then, he supposed, mechanics had changed. He had forgotten about the new extended underground. What once might have been void had been pushed down by over half a kilometre, instead replaced by winding caves and layered rock. He frowns, splaying his fingers over the ground before him. This wasn’t ordinary stone. What he finds instead is a brittle slate, fine grained and dark. It makes a dry sort of sound as he drags his hand across it, like it would crumble if he were to flex it in his fist, and yet the stone itself felt hard, solid. He thinks it would make a nice enough building block if only he had a pick to collect it.

He claps his hands together once, listening intently to the chorus of echoing slaps that reverberate against the supposed wall of cave around him. He frowns. He claps again, listening intently to the sound and trying desperately to determine even the vaguest of directions from whence the echo had first been produced, but it’s no use. The echos sound jumbled, erratic. Like an overlapping mess of a symphony without a conductor. Sloppy and muddled and chaotic . He hums.

How do dolphins do this…

Ping! Ping!

He walks forward, stumbling over his feet as they drag across the ground. He had to hit a wall eventually, right? No cave was infinite, and if he could just get a general frame of reference maybe he could start trying to find his way out.

He continues on, holding his hands out from his body, generally ignoring the almost constant ping of his communicator as he feels blindly for any indication of tangible surface, but he finds nothing. Only empty air.

What kind of cave is this anyway…

Ping!

He claps again, once more attempting his weird adaption of an echolocation, but it’s no use. It sounds the same. He didn’t know what he was expecting, honestly. A human echolocation wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t something that could just be learned overnight. It took people months to perfect the technique, and it wasn’t like anyone would realistically be expected to be able to perform the technique without the proper training.

Unless…

He gets on all fours, turning his brightness to maximum and holding his device aloft, just barely illuminating the ground enough to see the surface of deepslate beneath him. He runs his hand along the terrain, plucking a jagged sort of rock from the surface before turning his communicator in his hand, placing it face down on the ground. He can still see just the barest hint of a glow surrounding the edge of the contraption, not enough to really light up the area, but just enough so that he can see the outline of the 4 metallic screws on the devices back, and he lines up the pointed edge of his rock with the first socket.

He wouldn’t have considered it cheating. Not really anyway. After all, their only real rule was that they couldn’t use chat to converse with text. No direct message, no video calls, no audio relays. But all other uses of their communicators was fair game. And so what was a few tweaks here and there? It wasn’t like he was completely changing the system, merely modifying it’s pre-existing characteristics. And really, if he wasn’t planning on using  said modifications as a means of external communication anyway, by the games own rules, he was not cheating. This was merely…an effective use of his resources.

He hoped.

He twists the rock within the sockets, slowly turning each screw until it can be removed, pocketing the hardware before removing the now loose bit of backing, exposing the mess of wires and circuitry within. He takes a breath.

Right, you can do this. It’s just a bit of basic math. All you have to do is solve for x…

He reaches forward, grasping at wires, sifting through the tangled mess until he has found the ones he’s looking for and grasping them tightly, pulling two from their designated sockets.

He grasps at the ends, peeling back the layer of insulation casing on each end and exposing the frayed ends of copper wiring, twisting the threads together. He would have preferred the use of a soldering iron to properly meld the ends of metal, but as painstaking as it was, right now, he would have to make do.

He flips the device over, messing with a few settings before snapping quietly close to the microphone. Immediately a timer begins to count across his screen, the numbers wizzing past like a stopwatch as it counts up and up. He snaps again and the counter stops.

Perfect.

He flips the device once more, shoving loose wire back into the casing and refastening each screw before once again placing his communicator face up on the ground.

I really hope this works…

He takes a deep breath before firmly clapping once, eyes firmly glued to the screen of his device. The timer starts instantly, counting up until it hears the sound of the echo, and then it stops. He makes a mental note of the time before pivoting the device, shifting in each of the cardinal directions and repeating the process an additional 3 times before finally facing West.

This way.

He does a few calculations in his head, inputting numbers into his formula as he attempts to calculate a rough distance from the wall.

So if speed = distance ÷ time, to calculate for distance would be speed times time, and if sound travels at about 332 meters per second…

He walks forward, counting blocks as he goes, looking between his communicator and the floor as he continuously checks the coordinates, making sure he’s still on the right track. He advances nearly a hundred meters before he finally stops, looking up at the blackness before him and extending his arm forward. His hand brushes the solid surface of a wall and he smiles.

“ SCIENCE!!! ”

His booming echo of a shout reverberates around the cavern, shaking the walls and vibrating the floor, and he winces slightly at the loudness of his own excited voice.

“Uh, oops.”

He inches himself along the wall, dragging his left hand across the deepslate enclosure, feeling every bump and nick in the side of the rock as he goes. He continues on in this fashion for some time, winding down passageways of tunnels, deeper and deeper into the caverns heart. Or perhaps its stomach, he thinks, would be a more accurate description. He had long since passed through its jaws, through gnashing teeth and fangs, and perhaps these tunnels were but a throat, leading him down into the waiting belly of the beast.

Which sort of brought him to another question.

Where were all the mobs?

He had yet to run into a single monster. It was almost pitch dark down here, with but the light of his communicator to guide him, and yet he hadn’t heard so much as a single groan from a zombie.

He supposed it was possible he had just started in a Mooshroom biome. Not that he would have been able to tell on sight. Unless there was a whole lot of monsters elsewhere that were taking up all the spawns, the Mushroom Fields were the only biome in which mob spawning didn’t occur, right? In fact, he’s just about to check his communicator to confirm his suspicions when he sees something out of the corner of his eye.

He stops, staring directly ahead of him. Something flickers off in the distance. A light. A single dancing flame wavering before him, blinking and flickering as if calling to him, beckoning him forth from the dark. He steps towards it, drawn to the light like a moth to flame, his hand dropping from the guiding wall as he moves towards its source.

And then there’s more. Extending across the floor before him, and he steps out from his cave, entering what almost looks to be the base of a ravine, and he looks down at the source of light at his feet.

…Candles??

Had someone been there? Surely they must have. The candles led in almost a straight diagonal, lining the outskirts of the ravine-like crevice along the wall, as if a trail of breadcrumbs meant to lead one from the darkness. It was a tactic they used for mining all the time. Illuminating their caves and shafts with a light meant to expel the dark, in turn leading them on like a formless guide pointing them home. It was a smart tactic and an effective one. It prevented them from getting lost and, although not always entirely effectual, tended to have the added bonus of keeping the monsters at bay. It was simple and by no means glamorous, but it worked. But what person in their right mind would have used candles over torches?

He follows the trail of lights, keeping along the bank of what looked to have maybe once been a river bed, now empty and dried, leaving but a crevice of eroded stone in its wake. Eroded stone and…something else.

He sees something at the bottom of the eroded river. A navy sort of colour, deep and shimmering with a light blue sort of particle phased throughout its layers. He might have almost described it as a sort of liquid void, but when he reaches out to touch it, the commodity feels solid, a spongy sort of texture, like a mushroom mixed with a sort of wet mulch. The particles appear to almost shimmer or glow, and yet he was sure they weren’t actually giving off any visible light.

What are you?

He digs around the area, burying his hands in what felt like wet roots before pulling upwards, revealing the pale sand coloured root of the odd plant-like object and holding it aloft, analyzing the material with his communicator.

What is a Skulk Chute??

He makes as if to grab another one when he hears a peculiar sound. Like a deep clicking, almost like a vibraslap in slow motion or the knocking on the head of a hollow skull. He sits up straight, looking in the direction from whence the sound had come. He can see something glowing just off in the distance, a pale sort of blue shimmering like the reflection of sunlight through water, and then it goes dark.

Is that…?

He shifts again, making an audible sort of tap against the floor as he does, and the commodity once again springs to life, firing the faintest wisp of a silvery wave towards him and lighting up each shimmering tendril with a brilliant blue. He can feel the vibrations as the wave hits him, feeling the faintest tingle as if he was holding his hand over a live speaker, and then it is gone.

No way…

He is on his feet in a instant, rushing towards this new discovery with an excited sort of sprint in his step. These were those new Skulk Sensors! He had heard about the new block that could sense vibrations but he’d yet to actually see one in person. Wireless redstone! This was incredible! He mentally runs through the possibilities for contraptions, the circuits, the space…this was a game changer.

He’s in the process of reaching to pluck one when something changes. Suddenly the candles begin to flicker, as if struck by a suddenly strong breeze, and yet the air feels still. Untouched. And still the light pulses, throbbing like a beating heart.

And that’s when he hears it.

A heart .

Pounding against his ears like war drums, growing louder and louder as it approaches, much too loud to be his own. And that noise . There’s a sound like a demonic cross between a growl and a moan followed by the distinctive creaking of a set of footsteps on floorboards. Closer and closer it approaches. Louder and louder until he almost can’t stand it, and then it stops.

Almost at once the room feels cold, as if the very life had been sucked from the air. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his body freezing on instinct, as if his very bones had been petrified. And with nowhere else to go, he slowly turns, pivoting in his place to where he comes face to face with the Warden. 

Notes:

Yes I am aware he probably picked the hardest possible method of locating things, but it’s also Zedaph so I feel like it’s on brand for him.

Chapter 38: Docm77

Notes:

I LIVE! I know I’m late, but I JUST finished my degree like 2 weeks ago so I actually have TIME to write these now lol.

Objectively speaking, Doc knew he hadn’t started in the worst location. In fact, in the grande scheme of things, this was probably one of the better spots. The sun was shining, the grass was green, and although, as of this moment, he hadn’t yet found any trees, he knew the biome would eventually yield him some timber. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. Not that he could particularly tell you where all of his friends had spawned or how they were faring, but he could definitely think of some worse places to start.

For literally anyone else.

Doc himself, was in Hell.

“ Why flowers… ” Doc mutters to himself, sneezing loudly as he wades through the seemingly endless sea of yellow flora.

Again, objectively speaking, he knew there were probably a hundred or so worse places to start. He could at least get some scaffolding blocks, even if it was only dirt, and eventually he would find the wood he needed to make tools. He might even find an apple here and there to satiate his hunger, although in fairness that last one depended entirely on him finding a tree, which he had still yet to find.

But why sunflowers?

He sneezes again, the thick pollen sticking to his clothes and hair as he continues to trudge forward, plucking stem after stem of the yellow flora. He shoves the flowers in his pockets, up his sleeves, stringing them around his collar and stuffing them into the flaps of his lab coat. Flower after flower he takes, one by one, clearing every bloom from the path before him, uprooting stems and taking every last blossom into his arms until it’s all he can carry.

He grumbles to himself, reaching the end of his patch of flowers before turning and doubling back, continuing his path of destruction upon the next row as he continues to fill all of his available pocket space with a steadily increasing amount of sunflowers.

It wasn’t that he hated his location, because in all honesty, it wasn’t actually that bad. The terrain itself was relatively flat, so he at least didn’t have to worry extensively about acute loss of hunger from traversing winding cliffs and barreling hills. The blossoms themselves were pretty enough, and if he held on to a couple he was sure that Stress would be happy enough to take them off his hands once he found her. Stress had always been their resident herbalist, and he was sure she would be able to make use of the flowers in whatever concoctions of poultices or whatever it was she did with her various collections of herbs - he was sure she would be able to find some use for them. Really, his spawn wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t great , but it wasn’t horrible .

He just didn’t understand why .

Why was this the worst spot for him?

He had been prepared for the worst. Elsewhere his friends had been dealing with all manner of atrocities - from Dragons to Phantoms, from fire to drowning, from death loops to literal demons from Hell, and what did he have?

Flowers .

He turns again, continuing to pluck each stem from the path before him and making his way along the next row.

He should have been grateful. Not that he could tell you exact locations, but he was confident that some of his friends would have sold their very souls for this exact spot. He was sure Bdubs would have given an arm and a leg for the opportunity of a swap, Cleo and Cub likely weren’t overly ecstatic about their own starting locations, and he imagined Stress would have made a deal with the Devil himself if it meant she could be literally anywhere else.

And those were just the ones he could think of off the top of his head, not even considering the locations he didn’t know. He was sure the others would have equally bad if not even worse spots by their own standards - locations were specific to the individual after all, and if each person started in their own worst domain, by definition, any of them likely would have jumped at the opportunity for a trade.

And it wasn’t that he was ungrateful. Not really, anyway. He knew there were some particularly bad spots out there, even by his standards. But he had just been anticipating something a little bit…more. Nothing much - just a bit of excitement, a little bit of risk. Just enough of an adventure to keep things a little bit interesting. Anything that had even the tiniest fraction of a sliver of more excitement than… this .

He turns up the next row.

Was it an ego thing? Was that it? Were they somehow trying to insinuate that he wasn’t worthy of a more noteworthy spot? How pathetic it must have been for the supposed mighty Goat to wind up here . After all, what was a field of flowers compared with that of a literal Hell dimension? How pitiful must he have been to be given such a location.

Was it guilt? With his own decided lack of atrocities faced against the untold horrors of the remaining collective of Hermits abroad, were they simply trying to instill a sense of survivors guilt? After all, why should he get to carry on while the others continued to suffer? Who was he to emerge unscathed while his friends were tried and tortured and worked to the bone? Why was he the one to get that pass above all others?

Or maybe it was the other way around. Perhaps their goal was to render the others jealous. Resentful . Did they think they would turn on him? That if he was the sole survivor of grief in their otherwise world of torment that his friends would hate him? Or perhaps hate was too strong of a word. He knew his friends could never hate him. But they could resent him. Perhaps this was just the beginnings of a tiny seed planted inside their brains. Small a first. Nothing much. Just a tiny splotch of jealousy that would grow and fester over time. Seeping and spreading and growing until it’s engulfed them completely. Taking over every facet of their minds until they can’t even look at him.

Or maybe it’s just paranoia… he thinks, shaking his head as he turns up the next row.

Or perhaps, he considers, amidst all other thoughts and possibilities, that it was much simpler than all that. After all, locations were specific to the individual. They were made to target specific areas that would personally make it the most inconvenient to progress in a way congruent with one’s own personal style. So, what was his style? How did he play? 

Doc liked to be big. He liked to be bold . He revealed in the prospect of breaking boundaries and defying all laws of physics, nature, science or any other such barrier that would dare even think of trying to contain him. Doc was the type of person that could wake up on any given day, challenging even the mightiest of gods, life on the line, and he would win . He didn’t bend. He didn’t break. He didn’t stand down for anyone. Perhaps the universe had simply had enough. Perhaps whatever celestial being had come to place them in this wretched world had taken one look at how he normally played and promptly decided he was being sent on a forced vacation into the middle of nowhere where he couldn’t possibly get up to any of his normal shenanigans.

Well, he would show them. He would show them that no matter the time, no matter the place, no matter the circumstances, the Goat would not be contained.

He was just first going to need to pick all of these flowers.

He is just in the process of plucking another of the golden blooms when he hears something. A low, rumbling sort of buzzing that disturbs his thoughts, and he turns to see the form of a large, considerably round bee hovering just a few feet to his left.

“ Oh! Hello there.” He greets the creature. The insect flutters closer. Doc raises an eyebrow.

“You…want the flower?” The bee merely buzzes, flying itself closer still, approaching the freshly plucked flower still held in his grasp and brushing its head against the knuckles of his hand.

“I mean, I’m a little bit busy here, man, go take those ones.” He gestures to the field abroad, but the creature merely follows his movements, stubbornly sticking its gaze on the flower in his grasp.

“Bro, there are flowers over there. I need these.” He laughs despite himself, adding the singular flower to his armful of dozens. “You literally have an entire field to pick from.” The bee merely approaches again, circling its round fluff of a body around the bouquet.

“Look. Look, see?” He shifts the blossoms in his grasp, moving to sandwich the stems between the crook of his arm and once again plucking the single flower from the bouquet. He holds the single stem aloft, waving it before the face of the bee before walking forward, extending his arm and burying it in a patch of still unpicked sunflowers, as if to draw attention to the alternative, and yet still otherwise perfectly viable sources of food. “Flowers.”

Once again, the creature merely follows his movements, simply returning its attention the second his arm is returned. Doc sighs.

“No, you see these?” He inclines his head towards the bouquet in his grasp. “These are mine.” He stares down at the creature seriously. “You can’t have them.” The bee merely buzzes in response. He sighs again.

“Don’t give me that look, man, I need all of these.” He gestures to the unpicked patch with a nod of his head. “Those too. They all going, so you better get them quick.”

The creature flies closer still, perching itself upon the wrist of his still outstretched hand and looking up at him with big, black eyes. Doc groans.

“Ugh, fine .” He reaches to place the flower on the grass before him and the bee immediately flutters after it, burying its face in the golden petals. He shakes his head, looking out at the otherwise empty field before him. “You sure are a long way from home.”

And that’s when it hits him.

The bee had to have a nest. Or at the very least it had to be looking for a nest. He was pretty sure it was possible for them to spawn without one, but at the end of every nest there had to be a tree, which meant that there was a very good chance there was wood somewhere close by. Granted, he couldn’t speak to the competency of the homing abilities in the insect, but if they were both looking for the same thing…

He looks down at the bee, the yellow powder like substance of the pollen sticking to the fluffy hairs on its back like a fresh snow, and the creature stares back at him, locking eyes with the man as if it understood. And with a flap of its wings it takes to the sky once more, leaving a shower of pollen in its wake as it bumbles away, slow and clumsy as if thoroughly satisfied with its meal.

Doc pulls out his communicator, taking note of a vague set of coordinates before once again shoving the device away, stuffing his remaining bouquet of flowers under the flaps of his lab coat. He could come back for the rest later. But right now, if there was even the slightest chance of an opportunity for a set of tools…

He follows after the creature. “Lead the way, little buddy.”

Notes:

Ok before everyone yells at me I KNOW Doc is a gardener irl, I just found the prospect of placing his character in a sunflower plains infinitely funny

Chapter 39: BdoubleO100

“Are we there yet?” Bdubs asks for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

It was a repetitive enough sort of question. Persistent. Resolute. There’s a childlike sort of innocence about the phrase - one that might have almost seemed funny an hour ago. Just that ever so slight whine to his tone. Like a child traveling along in the back of a car asking the same sort of question, genuinely curious the first time, only to transition into a fit of bubbly giggles during the ensuing barrage of echoing groans presented after each successive iteration of the phrase.

Are we there yet? Are we there yet? There’s a sort of game in the repetition. Like they’ve found a twisted humour in eliciting your exaggerated groans of distress, and you let them do it. After all, the giggling is bearable. It’s that return of impatience that gets you. The reinstatement of that same incessant whine that returns once their game of annoyance has become dull. Indeed his own cadence is much the latter. Gone was any notion of teasing or humour that might have been present an hour ago. Right now, he was just impatient .

Scar appears within the portal, emerging from the swirling purple of a vortex less like a coherent materialization of a singular entity, and in more of a manner congruent with a gradual manifestation of limbs. Like emerging from the depths of a deep lake, each appendage breaching the surface of water in a gradual succession until his foot has finally reached the apex of shore, touching down upon the sand and revealing each extremity previously obstructed by the waves. First a foot, and then a hand. An arm, a leg, a shoulder, until eventually he has materialized completely, stepping over the threshold of the obsidian frame and moving to join his companion at his side. Bdubs looks up at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Scar offers a sheepish, smiling sort of grimace, immediately reaching for the Diamond encrusted pickaxe at his hip, maneuvering the tool above his head and bringing it down once more with a prominent CRACK as he chips away at the obsidian frame. “ Well……”

Bdubs groans loudly. “ Still?!”

“Well, I mean, we’re getting closer?” There is a loud, tingly sort of crash as the frame of the portal is broken, the previously swirling purple of a vortex shattering like a thin sheet of glass against marble. Scar picks up the singular chunk of obsidian before chipping away at the next one. “We’re at least out of the Ocean this time.”

“… We were out of the Ocean last time! ” Bdubs exclaims, arms flailing wildly in gesture. “We were out of the Ocean the time before that!” CRACK comes the sound of the pickaxe as Scar chips away at the remaining remnants of stone. “We’ve been out of the Ocean for over an hour, the Ocean is gone! We are done with the Ocean! The Ocean is but a speck so far off into the distance only eagles can see it through a telescope! ”

“Well, we at least know we haven’t gone off course.”

“…Scar, we’re traveling in a straight line . If you’d somehow managed to steer us off course so badly that we ended up going in the opposite direction , I think I’d send you to see an optometrist.” CRACK . “Maybe a neurologist.” CRACK . “…maybe a psychiatrist too, for good measure.”

Scar breaks down the rest of the portal, scooping up each individual chip of obsidian and pocketing the substance before walking off, slinging his pickaxe over his shoulder and continuing along the unbeaten path before them. “I’ll have you know that I happen to have a great sense of direction.”

“Then how come this tunnel is steadily curving sideways?” Bdubs follows after him, glancing back down their supposedly straight diagonal tunnel of Netherrack that indeed now possessed a distinctly rounded curve.

“Because we’re trying to avoid the lava lake we hit 3 portals ago - this wall here.” Scar taps the head of his diamond pick against the red of the Nether rock wall before him. “Unless you really want to bridge across a lava lake in the middle of a Nether Wastes biome. I mean, I’m sure the Ghasts would appreciate the target practice.” Bdubs produces his own, stone, pickaxe, approaching the wall Scar had previously indicated. Scar grins widely. “ Hey , it’s like whack a Bdubs, but with fire! Ooo I change my mind, let’s do that instead, it sounds much more fun.”

“ Very freaking funny! ” Bdubs scowls, raising his pick and breaking off a piece of Nether rock with a CRACK .

“No really, you’re sure now, cause if you wanted to offer yourself up for target practice I’ve got his bow here with me—“

“I’M DIGGING, OK?!”

Scar chuckles lightly.

The pair had been traveling through the Nether for the better part of half a day, taking the advice of Cleo and continuing their quest for glass by using the dimension as a means of fast travel between their Monument and the closest desert. At least, that was the plan. They had yet to actually find said desert yet. It was a lot more difficult when they didn’t particularly know where they were going. As it was, all that their friends had left them had been a few odd scraps of materials and a very vague set of directions from whence they had come. And it wasn’t as if they could just calculate a distance based solely on the whims of an indiscriminate location that was just kind of “vaguely in this direction”. They were just grateful Ren had seen fit to gift them his spare iron armour and a few of his diamonds for a pick, giving them the means to progress this way at all. The man had even been nice enough to bequeath each of them with a shulker box, which was sure to be increasingly helpful for them once they actually found the desert they were looking for.

They just needed to find it first.

They had been progressing through a system of trial and error, using the Nether to create a series of portals that branched off roughly in the direction that Cleo had indicated all those days ago. Their friends had been gone for just over a week, the two having left him and Scar to set up base while they continued their search for Joe. Thus far they had heard no signs of progression. No deaths, achievements, or otherwise notifications of any kind had been seen from either party, and he was inclined to interpret their silence as an indication of Joe’s whereabouts. If they’d heard nothing, he was going to assume this meant that Joe had yet to be found - he was sure Cleo would at least be sure to give them some form of disclosure. It wasn’t particularly surprising. The pair weren’t likely to return without him, or else he was sure they were going to search every stronghold on the map just to rule out the possibilities. Even if they were to return empty handed, they could at least knock a location off the list.

In the meantime, should Ren and Cleo happen to return, or perhaps if another Hermit were to find the location whilst him and Scar were away, they had left a note on the Round Table explaining their absence. It was probably the most central of locations, directly seen from the main entrance and easily accessed from all sides of the structure. After all, they had been given the task of constructing the base. They might as well make it look pretty.

“Here’s good.” Scar stops, moving to stand to the side of their tunnel and plonking a single piece of Obsidian down as a marker of sorts. Bdubs immediately adjusts his digging, swinging around to the side walls, creating a rounded pocket around the singular piece of Obsidian as he widens the area enough to fit the frame of a portal before he too steps aside.

“Alright, this is the one, this is the one.” Bdubs rubs his hands together enthusiastically, shifting his balance from one foot to the other as Scar begins construction of the frame, almost bouncing in place as if his whole body is physically vibrating in anticipation at the prospect of his barely contained enthusiasm. Scar raises an eyebrow, a light sort of smile twitching at the corners of his lips as if amused.

“You’re sure about that?” Scar questions lightly, a playful sort of tone to his voice.

“Yes.” Bdubs replies simply, nodding his head in agreement.

“ Really? ” Scar asks again, extending each syllable of the word as he speaks.

“Yes, uh huh.” Bdubs only nods more vigorously. Scar grins wider.

“You’re really sure?”

“ Yes, yes I’m sure! ”

“ Positive? ”

“ I’M POSITIVE, OK?! YES, I’M POSITIVE!! ”

Scar laughs, positioning the final piece of Obsidian in place before taking hold of his shovel, digging out the dirt placeholders from each of the four corners and collecting them once more. “You know, as positive as you were last time and the time before that and the time before that and—

“ Bleh! Bleh bleh! ” Bdubs coughs loudly. “Those were all just—just practice rounds, you know? Just— just practice .”

“Uh huh.”

“You know, just gotta try it out, do a couple dry runs, get a feel for when you gotta do it for real, obviously. You know how it is.”

“Of course, of course. Just gotta— gotta warm up a bit, right?”

“Exactly, exactly!”

“Right.”

“Mhm.”

“But, this is for sure the one now, yeah?” Scar questions again, this time pulling a flint and steel from the depths of his pockets and cupping the tool lightly in his hand.

“Yes.” Bdubs confirms again, a note of finality to his tone. Scar holds the flint and steel towards the Obsidian frame.

“Right, so this is definitely the last portal I’m going to light.”

“Why do you always get to light the portal.”

Scar halts his movements, looking over towards his companion and fixing the man with the biggest and best puppy dog eyes he can muster. “Because…I like the burny burny…” He gives a flick of his wrist, aiming his flint and steel towards the ground, setting a section of Netherrack alight just to the right of Bdubs foot with a Fwish !

“ Hey! ” Bdubs leaps forward in alarm, quickly extinguishing the flames with his foot in a panicked sort of blur of limbs. Scar smirks devilishly.

“Just look at it, I mean—“ Fwish! He lights another spot.

“ Watch it! ” Bdubs exclaims, once again leaping to put out the flames. Scars smirk grows into a full out grin.

“All of the bright colours and—“ Fwish!

“Scar don’t you—!!”

“And that sound!” Fwish!

“ Ahhhhhhh!!! ”

“Listen to that wonderful sound! It’s just–“ Fwish!

“ Ooooooo!!!! ”

“ Amazing isn’t it?” Fwish! Fwish!

“No it’s not it’s— HEY!!! ”

“Ah, so soothing.” Fwish! “So satisfying.” Fwish!

“You j— stop that. Goodness sakes.”

Scar chuckles, flicking his wrist one final time, this time aiming his flint and steel towards the base of the obsidian frame, and the portal erupts in a flash of violet, sending tendrils of purple flame spiralling upwards and out until it’s filled the fixture entirely, and then it stops. The flames disappear almost as quickly as they had arrived, dissipating inwards as if their very life force is being sucked away, drawn towards the swirling vortex of a portal like a fuel and consumed like an energy. Like a white dwarf left in the wake of a stellar collapse, leaving behind but a swirling fog-like mass suspended within the perimeter, like the planetary nebula surrounding the husk of a dying star. Scar steps up to the frame.

“Tell you what Bdubs, if you’re right about the portal I’ll let you light the next one.”

“Thank you, I— HEY!”

“Bye!” Scar disappears into the vortex. Bdubs grumbles.

He waits. For several long moments he waits, staring into the swirling vortex of a portal as he taps his foot impatiently, waiting for Scar to reappear somewhere within the churning mass of purple fog before him. This was the hardest part. The waiting. The small minuscule amount of time spent waiting in the Nether with nothing but the occasional cries of a distant Ghast and the haunting ghost like voices that rise from the depths of the portal. The Hermits had all but gotten used to the sound. After all, everyone constructed themselves a portal at some point. A Nether Portal was a distinct feature of all bases, and it was very rare that an individual shouldn’t possess one, even those of them that didn’t particularly venture to the Nether. The Nether Portal was ones direct line to their base, to their farms, the districts - it was what kept them all connected. Even if you didn’t use your own, the others certainly would. It was a commodity that one could find almost anywhere, and so it was a sound of which most would habituate. It was easy enough to tune out when you had other things to focus on. After all, the Hermits as a whole were rarely idle, even at home.

And he wouldn’t say it was bothering him, per say. He could adjust just fine in the Overworld where he had about a million other things to focus his attention. It was just that here there was none of that. There wasn’t really anything else to focus on, particularly when half of his attention was focused on the very thing the other was trying to forget. And in all honesty, the sound wouldn’t have bothered him on a normal day. But now he was tired, and impatient, and more than ready to get out of the Nether as soon as possible. That, and the prospect of having to wait to hear if they had in fact reached their destination was steadily eating him alive. 

Several moments later, Scar once again appears within the portal.

“ Are we there yet?! ” He exclaims for the hundredth and first time that day, his voice just slightly higher than the last as Scar once again walks over the threshold of the Obsidian frame.

“I’m not above lying if that’ll make you feel better?”

“ WHY?! ”

Scar smirks, raising his flint and steel to his lips, blowing a puff of air over the ridge of the tool as if to expel the imaginary smoke, like in imitation of a black powder revolver. “Oh well, tough luck Bdubs but it looks like there can only be one Scarsonist in this town.” He pauses. “Also can we keep this one, there’s a dark oak forest and I wanna come back for the wood.”

Bdubs grumbles, brandishing his stone pickaxe once more and continuing to dig their tunnel through the rock on the far wall. “That’s it, I’m checking the next portal. You’ve clearly jinxed the whole portal system. I’ve decided.”

“Oh yeah, 100%.” Scar agrees, slinging a hand inside his pocket nonchalantly as he casually meanders along after him.

“Yes. You’ve done some— some black magic hoodoo to mess with it.” Bdubs continues. CRACK comes the sound of the pick as is chips through the Nether stone.

“I just— I really just accidentally summoned this demon a few portals ago—“ Scar plays along.

“Yes!” He exclaims. “You thought I wouldn’t notice!”

“I did. You know I just didn’t wanna say anything—“

“Cause you’re sneaky like that!”

“Yeah, and I mean he was a little bit mad at me for waking him up, you know how these portal demons can be.” Scar smiles lightly.

“You’ve upset the portal demons, Scar!”

“I know! I seem to have this problem.”

Bdubs checks the coordinates before continuing along. “Yes yes. That’s clearly the only explanation.”

“I mean obviously.”

“It knows it’s you that’s why!”

“Oh absolutely.”

“It knows, Scar! You’ve upset the portal demons and now you just— you can’t take a portal anywhere! It’s just gone “oh, Scar’s looking for a desert, LET’S MESS WITH EM!”

Scar gives an exaggerated sort of sigh, shaking his head as he carry’s on beside his companion. “It’s true, I’ve jinxed it. But you know, clearly you won’t have this problem when you go through.”

Bdubs shakes his head. “No no no, I’m clearly immune, see.”

“Oh really? What’s your secret?”

Bdubs straightens his back, puffing out his chest in a show of confidence. “Oh you know, I’ve just got a knack for these sorts of things.”

Scar snickers quietly, finally dropping their mock act as he turns his head towards the man, holding a piece of obsidian up in gesture. “Are you gonna call it?”

“Hey, who’s leading this dig here?!”

Scar raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, tunnel away, you’re the boss.”

“ That’s right! ”

He digs forward another block. Another two. Three, four—

“Alright, here!” He digs up the outer two walls, creating another pocket of air around the area, and Scar rolls his eyes as he starts construction of the frame, setting the new portal alight with a flick of his flint and steel. He turns back towards his companion.

“All yours.”

Bdubs steps up to the frame.

“Alright, get ready, because now, ” He pauses for dramatic effect, “ Now we’re about to start getting somewhere!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bdubs spins around, turning to see the face of a very smug looking Scar, the man offering no further explanation other than presenting a singular wooden sign and holding the commodity out for him to take. He raises an amused eyebrow. Bdubs says nothing, merely grumbles to himself as he reaches for the sign, swiping it from his hands and tucking it snugly beneath his arm before marching back to the portal.

“Alright, here we go!” He steps into the frame.

He feels the effects almost immediately, the purple fog seeping around him, curling around his arms, his legs, his waist, his neck, wrapping around every part of him like a twisted hand gripping at him from all sides. There’s a ghost like dance in the way it moves. Wispy, delicate. Like the tendrils of steam rising from a cup of hot tea, spiraling upwards as it swirls around his eyes, his ears, curling up his nose and snaking its way down his throat until it’s engulfed him completely, and Scar’s satisfied sort of smirk begins to fade from his view.

When his vision clears he is greeted with a sea of green. Gone was any indicator of hellish rock and fiery brimstone. Instead what now greets him is the lush green of a dark oak forest, with twisting trunks of barreling trees that stretch high into the sky, interspersed haphazardly amongst the trunk sized stems of oversized mushrooms. He stands just on the edge of the biome, positioned just off the mouth of a rolling river that winds itself back between the trees, the bright red of the mushroom caps contrasting brilliantly with the rich green of the forest leaves, and he stares out at the scenery before him as the gentle sound of trickling water slowly reaches his ears.

The scene was beautiful. Quite the contrast to what he had been dealing with so far. But as beautiful as it was, it was still no desert. They might have been able to pick apart the scraps of sand from the base of the river, but it would still be nowhere even close to the amount of glass they would need in the long run, especially considering he had constructed their entire base as an oversized greenhouse.

He sighs, pulling out the sign Scar had given him, burying its base in the ground before writing down a set of coordinates. Directions to the Monument. He couldn’t break down the frame on this side, lest he find himself stranded without a proper way back, but if another Hermit happened to stumble across it, or indeed any of the other portals they had constructed that day, it would at least point them in the direction of their location.

He sighs again, standing up straight once more and stalking back towards the portal he had exited. He once again feels the familiar churn of the vortex around him,  and in no time at all he is standing back within the walls of the Nether, staring into the face of his waiting friend. 

Scar fixes him with a mischievous stare, an impish sort of sparkle to his eye, the man speaking with a teasing sort of loll to his voice that conveyed altogether far too much enjoyment for his liking. Scar smirks devilishly. “Are we there yet?”

Bdubs blinks. “ That one was practice too! ”

Scar starts breaking down the portal. “You know Bdubs, you’ve done an awful lot of practice rounds.”

“Well that’s the beauty of them, see is you get as many as you want!” He approaches the far wall, already starting to dig out their next tunnel. Scar looks over at him quizzically.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself there?”

“It’s faster this way! AHHHHHHH—“ a lava stream starts to pour down from above, and he quickly shoves a fistful of Nether rock into the hole. Scar chuckles.

“Whatever you say.”

The two convene several moments later, clearing another space and lighting yet another portal before them. Scar turns to look at him.

“Let me guess, this is definitely the one this time?”

Bdubs grins. “Yes! Glad to see you’re finally catching on!” He makes to step towards the portal but is stopped when Scar suddenly blocks his path. He shoots the man a quizzical look.

“Ah ah! No way, it’s my turn, you had your chance this one’s mine!”

“ What?! But I’ve only done one! ”

“Nope, too bad, I don’t make the rules. My portal now, bye!”

Scar disappears again and Bdubs scowls. He taps his foot. Waiting…waiting…one, two, three, four…the seconds tick by…tap tap tap tap tap…

He wasn’t going to say it. He wasn’t. As much as he really wanted to say it, he was going to hold strong. After all, he was perfectly capable of composing himself. Just this once he was going to hold off. Yeah. He could do this. He wasn’t going to— 

Scar reappears.

“ARE WE THERE YET?!” He exclaims once again, now the hundredth and second time he had done just that, so loudly he was certain that other dimensions could hear, the phrase merely slipping from his tongue with a practiced ease, now accompanied by all the weight and pent up frustration accumulated since the start of their expedition, and he approaches Scar with a sort of weighted desperation in his eyes.

Scar grins ear to ear. A big, excited, genuine sort of smile as he looks over at the man with a sense of immense relief.

“Yes!”

“Oh finally! “ He grabs Scar by the wrist, promptly dragging him right back towards the same portal he had just left. “ Now we’re getting somewhere!” The pair disappear amongst the fog.

Chapter 40: JoeHills

Notes:

God dammit Joe, you made me get philosophical.

This was going to be a fluff chapter, believe it or not, and then my brain just went “what if we had an existential crisis instead?”

“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”

It was a quote he had always liked from a famous poet that he often enjoyed. Fernando Pessoa was much of how he would describe a Van Gogh of writing - disregarded in life, revered in death. Or perhaps he would be best rendered as the Mozart of poetry, revolutionizing his art much in the way the musician had revolutionized his. Undefined by style or genre, mixing and matching from prose to sonnet much in the way that Mozart had reconstructed the genre of classical, interjecting motifs of German Opera into his music of which such would not typically belong.

It was how he thought life was meant to be. The cross pollination of knowledge acquired across multiple sources, accumulated into a singular entity as opposed to a collection of dozens. He felt that knowledge was never meant to be limited. It was meant to grow, to evolve, and above all it was meant to be used. Why eat just one flavour of ice cream when you could try them all? After all, it is often said that a fish will only grow unto the size of its pond, and so why then should you choose to be other than Pisces, with the sky as your water and the universe your basin?

The Portuguese poet embodied much of Joe’s general ideology, encompassing many aspects of philosophies of which he would draw upon from just everyday life. His work, his life, his eccentricities, and mannerisms. Much of his work embodied the very definition of “outside the box”, and that was a trait of which Joe had always admired in any creator, or at the very least respected.

“Music soothes, the visual arts exhilarates, the performing arts entertain. Literature, however, retreats from life by turning it into slumber.”

There’s something inherently soft about the phrase. Comforting even. Books, he had decided, were like a warm embrace. Like a mother tucking their child into bed, all the while whispering softly “you have had a hard day, now dream of better things.”

There’s a sort of promise in the notion. An offer of escape, of solitude, of peace . Less like a breath of fresh air taken in to a set of half drowned lungs, but in more of a prospective offering of rest. You have struggled hard, so rest now and struggle later. Recover your strength so that you may continue to fight on. It makes you forget for a while, allows you merely to be. Suddenly you are not drowning. You are merely there . Frozen in your very existence like a momentary pause on life. Your body neither breathing nor gasping for air, but just…there. Suspended in its stasis as the mind is transported on to other galaxies, realms, universes. Where you may live a thousand lives in but an instant, until you have forgotten that you were drowning at all.

“To write is to forget. Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”

He thinks of the quote now as he turns over the page of his book. You can tell a lot of a book by the look of its pages. The crease of its corners, the scribbles in it’s margins, the stains upon its paper. The more tattered was its appearance, the more was it loved, and this one had certainly been well cared for. It’s pages had long since yellowed and worn, frayed around its edges with its semblance of ware. Several of its signatures appeared to either have been ripped or else had gradually worn away at its seams, leaving nothing but several loose leafs of text blocks that had merely been placed back in their original order. The paper itself feels soft, delicate, as if time itself had broken it apart at its fibres, beating it down until it’s nothing but mush and leaving but the featherlight paper that was only a whisper of what it once was when it was crisp and new.

The Stronghold library housed many such tomes, each in differing states of their decay. A select few had even been worse off than his, with missing pages and tattered covers and with text that had long since faded into illegibility. The library’s structure itself rather suited the demeanour. It’s floors and walls were worn and cracked, it’s shelves crooked and bent with their semblance of rot. Thick layers of dust carpeted every surface abroad and curtains of cobweb draped every nook in its tow.

The entire Stronghold was decrepit and old, crumbling apart at its very seams and far beyond hope of any meaningful repair. In fact, the building itself was probably only a few steps above ruins, long since abandoned and left to its rot as but a carcass buried deep underground. He wonders how long it will be until the entire structure might not even exist at all, crumbling away and decomposing completely until every part of it is swallowed by the earth, and nothing but dirt and stone remains of its existence.

Nothing that existed in this world was infinite. Not life nor death nor even them, for even they would not exist in this word forever. The only constant was decay. Even this library was all that remained of a civilization long forgotten, and he wonders if this is the eventual fate of all worlds. Of all their worlds passed, their shops and their homes, their games and their districts, all semblance of remains of currencies, businesses, or pointless contraptions. If they were to be found today, or indeed a hundred years from now, even they too might much resemble the remains of this library, and he wonders if there might be someone then, traversing their ruins as he was now and pondering over his own creations with that same curiosity.

That was the thing about having ample time on your hands - your mind tended to wander. Not that his particularly needed the assistance. Even idle his mind was never still, and seeing as he was going to be there for a while, he found the presence of books a welcome distraction from the atmosphere of existential dread that shrouded their whole situation. After all, Fernando Pessoa had said it best. “ Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life .”

He hadn’t bothered trying to leave the depths of his Stronghold. Once Cleo had left the End, he hadn’t really seen much point. Hers had been the only location of which he had been absolutely certain, and now that she’d left, there was little point in him tracking it down. He had traversed around the structure, collecting what little resources he could from the few chests dotted about - some paper, some books, bread, coal, a compass. But that was about it. Otherwise he had contented his time to the library, hidden away upon its upper balcony and out of reach of all lurking monsters that patrolled the passages below. Not even the oversized spiders could reach him here, and he had been quite content to simply tuck himself away in a corner, pouring over the countless volumes of books and collections found within the structure.

He knew Cleo would come for him. There was no doubt in his mind that she would. She had gotten his message, and she knew his rough location, and his had been of the few that had presented at least some small semblance of tracking. He was much better off staying where he was and waiting to be found.

He turns over the page of his book. A collection of ancient fairytales transcribed in their original Galactic. This one in particular recounted the tale of a great dragon that had plagued the land, a near invulnerable beast that could not be cut nor wounded, with a fire like acid and wings that could break through solid stone. Unable to be vanquished, the beast had been sealed away, banished across realms and trapped within its own dimension, its gateway broken and its location secure so that the creature may never wreck its havoc upon the world again.

He felt his own starting location, as frustrating was its nature intended, indeed possessed a significant flaw in that it had given him access to books. He felt he could have spent an eternity here, lost within the pages of long forgotten tomes that recounted hundreds of untold adventures. He had always liked fairy tales. Not because they told of the existence of dragons, but because they recounted that dragons could be beaten.

He had just finished flipping over his page when he hears it.

“Joe?”

Joe stops. Was that..?

“Joe, my dude, are you there?”

And with..?

“You think he’s here?”

“Well he better be. We’re running out of Strongholds to check.”

“You’re sure this is the right one?”

“I’m telling you, there’s something different about this one.”

“I don’t see nothing.”

“You just aren’t looking hard enough.”

“Well, if a zombies eyes are keener than a humans... OW! ”

That had to be her. He was certain that was her voice, and after hearing the short conversation he had only become more convinced.

“Joe?” The voice calls again.

“Cleo?”

The voices stop. There’s silence for a moment longer before he hears the woman speak again.

“...Joe?”

“Cleo?”

“JOE!!”

“I’m down here!”

“Where’s here?”

“In the library!”

“Which is where exactly?!”

“Bottom floor! Uh—“ He pulls out his communicator, checking the screen before calling out a set of coordinates.

“Split up! We’ll find the stairs faster.”

“Stay there! We’re coming!”

He’s on his feet in an instant, shoving his book into his pocket and collecting up the small remains of his things before striding across the platform towards the ladder. He steps outside into the hall just in time to see Cleo turn the corner. She halts, catching sight of him, simply standing and staring at his form in the relative darkness of the dungeon-like structure. Their eyes lock for only a fraction of a second, one that feels like an eternity, before she’s bolting down the hall.

“ Joe! ”

And then she’s plowed into him, flinging herself upon him at full force as she throws her arms around his neck and envelops him in a bone crushing hug.

“Well howdy Cleo!” Joe greets happily, wrapping his own arms around her waist as he reciprocates her hug.

Cleo pulls back slightly after a moment, not enough so that she has left the confines of his arms, but enough so that she could now clearly gaze upon him. “Joe, I don’t think I have ever been happier to see your face in my life.”

“Yes, well, I like to believe that I have a nice face, and it astounds me that more people do not wish to gaze upon it.” Cleo gives his shoulder a smack, but smiles none-the-less. Joe only smiles wider. “I knew you’d find me.”

“Glad one of us did. I was starting to think we’d never find you.”

“Nah, I had full faith. I knew you’d understand my message.”

“Would just like to point out that only you would send a message in the form of Silverfish .”

Joe shrugs. “It worked, didn’t it?” Cleo rolls her eyes and Joe smiles again. “Funny, I didn’t have you pegged as a hugger.”

Cleo takes a step back, crossing her arms and fixing the man with a serious sort of stare. “You get precisely one hug today, I hope you enjoyed that.”

“Gotcha.”

“Joe, my dude!” WHAM . “It’s good to see ya ma brother!” Ren crashes into them from behind, appearing directly between the pair and enveloping them both in his own bone crushing embrace. Ren grins excitedly. “Oh yeah! One more down! We are killing this my dudes! We’re cookin’ with gas, baby!” Cleo looks up at the man incredulously, glancing between his face and the arm now encircling her shoulder. She raises an eyebrow. Ren blinks. “…You said today! I hadn’t claimed my quota!”

Cleo rolls her eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile there as well, and Joe feels more than sees as the woman subtly encircles the man with her own arm, giving his shoulder a light sort of squeeze. “Right. One more down. Now, how do we get out of here?”

“Come on. I’ll show you the way.” Joe extracts himself from their hug, taking a step back and jabbing his thumb back down the corridor. “I’ve walked around the structure enough times that I’ve practically got the layout memorized.”

“Works for me.” Cleo, too, extracts herself from the ever crushing arms of overexcited werewolf. Ren slings a hand into his pocket.

“Alright, let’s get the heck out of here and then we’ll take you to the others.”

“Yeah, where are Scar and Bdubs?” Joe questions, already striding down the corridor in search of the exit. He had seen the collective messages linking their correspondence, and he had been curious as to how his other friends had been faring.

“They’ve been setting up our home base at Bdubs Ocean Monument.” Cleo explains. “Just like, ya know, don’t die until we get there, cause I don’t particularly fancy making that trip again.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a trek to be honest. There are way too many Strongholds on this map my dude.” Ren interjects.

Joe stops. “Wait, just how many Strongholds did you guys search?”

“A lot.”

He raises a questioning eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of him. “Ok? How many is a lot?”

A pause.

Cleo looks at Ren. Ren looks at Cleo. The pair reply in tandem.

“You don’t wanna know.”

Notes:

Quick question. I’ve had a couple people ask if I’m going to include Gem and Pearl, as this was started before they joined. Is that something that people would like or feel especially strong about one way or another? I’m still heavily debating and any input whatsoever may help sway my indecision 😅

Chapter 41: Grian

Notes:

So this chapter turned out to be 4 times longer than I anticipated, but here we are.

Also, fun fact, I’ve written this entire fic up to this point on a single page of a notes document on my phone and it now takes me a solid minute and a half to scroll all the way to the bottom to add another chapter. 😅 Also apparently 83,047 words of text makes the notes app real laggy, WHO KNEW

Etho fell from a high place.

It had to be at least the 20th time he’d seen that exact message in the last 5 minutes. Although heard was likely a more accurate description.

Ping!

Etho fell from a high place.

Grian groans, turning over in his bed and burying his head beneath the pillow. He wasn’t ready to get up yet. He had no idea what time it was or for how long he had been asleep, he just knew that he wasn’t yet ready to move . And it wasn’t as if he was still particularly asleep by any means, although still a bit groggy. The persistent pinging of his communicator had expelled any notion of returning to a proper sleep again, but the air felt cold and his bed was warm, and right now all he wanted was to just snuggle deeper into the mattress and disappear beneath the covers.

Ping!

Grian groans again, pulling the pillow more firmly around his head as he tries to muffle the sound further. He had ignored it the first time. And the second time. And the third and fourth and fifth time. By the sixth round he had finally managed to glance over just long enough to see what all the commotion was about, at which point he had promptly buried the contraption in the barrel at his bedside, which had only succeeded in causing the entire entity to shake every time a new message appeared. Persistent machines…

Grian wasn’t what one would have described as much of a morning person. Although that was putting it a bit liberally. He wouldn’t really have described himself in the range of one extreme or another, but he didn’t particularly like being woken up regardless. It wasn’t to say that he went to bed and woke up any earlier or later than the next person, but he didn’t believe in the setting of alarms or eating at set times and he much preferred to let his body simply adjust on its own rather than forcing set schedules upon it, and it was always somewhat of a disturbance when he was forced otherwise.

Ping!

He rolls over again with a huff, resting a singular hand over the shirt of his stomach, the other hooking itself behind his head as he stares straight up at the wooden logs of the ceiling above him. His makeshift shack had been small, barely 3 meters wide in either direction, with stripped oak walls and a cobblestone floor just big enough to fit the structure of a bed frame, a workbench, a singular barrel, and not much else. He might have been able to squeeze a furnace into the corner if he really tried, but then, the structure was only meant to be temporary, and he hadn’t really seen the point in making it any more cramped than it already was.

He had really tried his best to make the structure at least somewhat presentable - he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. Not that anyone besides him was ever going to see it. He had only really needed a place to spend the night, having fully planned on tearing the whole thing down come morning. However, anyone that knew him at all knew that he simply didn’t do dirt huts, but on quite the similar note, it was also no secret of the man’s lacking confidence in interior design. The outside, to any onlooker, might have appeared as any ordinary, albeit very small and cozy looking log cabin. Nothing overly fancy or perhaps up to the standard of which he usually held himself, but it was a facade that was pretty enough to pass as something slightly more upscale than a dirt house.  The inside however…

Ping!

He sighs, tearing his gaze from the ceiling and instead throwing a glance back towards the singular barrel at his left, staring hard at the commodity as if expecting his eyes to pierce right through and see the communicator of which he knew to be inside. He watches as the entire barrel seems to buzz as a new message rolls in.

Ping!

He groans one final time, a strangled sort of sound, squinting his eyes shut in a strange mix of annoyance and exhaustion, and with some great effort finally manages to pry himself into an upright position.

Well, he was awake now. Might as well get up.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking out the rougher tangles that had accumulated while he slept before reaching into the barrel to retrieve his communicator once again, placing it down on the bed. As if on cue, the device goes off almost immediately, louder now that it was back out in the open, and he grumbles as he fiddles with the straps of his breastplate, once again securing the article that he had previously discarded for the night.

“Etho, Etho stop! I’m already awake!” He whines.

Ping! Goes the sound of his communicator.

He once again sighs heavily, merely glancing over at the string of identical death messages that now filled his entire screen and then some. Now that he was up and about, he had grown very curious as to just what it was that his friend was up to. At face value the deaths themselves appeared relatively unremarkable. After all, it was the sort of occurrence that plagued them often. Falling was a common sort of death. Lacklustre. Mundane. It possessed no flare or exuberance. No flames, or explosions, or overall indications of grandeur. It was a hollow sort of death, almost meaningless. Certainly others presented far more opportunity for the interpretation of dramatics. But there was nothing overly dramatic or exuberant about his deaths. Nothing fancy or flashy or eye catching at all. He had just…fell.

Ping!

Etho fell from a high place.

Grian frowns down at his communicator. There it was again. The message perplexed him. Not so much the frequency of the deaths or the overall manner thereof, but because it was Etho . Etho was a lot of things, but above all he was smart . He was resourceful . He knew how to adapt to an environment, and he knew how to use those same surroundings to get what he needed to survive. He had never been one of the frequent dyers, so for him to die so repeatedly was rather unheard of. The man rarely died at all, although that could in fact be taken with a grain of salt. Because Etho had in fact died once before during their current excursion. Only once, mind, but it had been a death none the less.

On their third night in, so long ago now, two identical deaths had appeared one right after the other. One to Tango, and the other to Etho. Both had been slain by a Phantom soon after nightfall. One singular death, just enough to convey a dimension of origin and nothing else, and then they had been silent.

Or rather Etho had been silent. Tango’s deaths had persisted throughout. Once every three nights, Tango would die to a Phantom. Just once to a Phantom and then he was quiet. Almost like clockwork. Night would fall and he would die, and then there would be silence again until he was slain once more but three days later. Almost like a loop. Like an insanely long death loop with a three day wait interval.

It was a curious sort of exchange, he noted. Because the two themselves possessed nearly identical death messages in reverse. Of all the notifications that had crossed his screen, both Tango and Etho had appeared very similar. Neither had received any achievements, and their few deaths, apart from timing, were identical. They had died to the same things in the same ways, just at different times. Indeed, Tango had started their little escapade, as he recalled, with a death loop of falling, having then seemingly transitioned into his sporadic death by phantoms that had continued throughout. Etho, by contrast, had started with a singular death via Phantom, and now , well—

Ping!

Etho fell from a high place.

It was almost like they had swapped completely. Which at once was both ridiculous and impossible. He was pretty sure you couldn’t just change locations, but then again, this was Tango and Etho he was talking about. He couldn’t even begin to describe the sort of feats they were capable of. Still, it seemed an odd chain of events.

Apart from the timing, they had nearly identical deaths, which surly suggested that they had at least started somewhere similar. Had they been together? If so, why hadn’t one killed the other? Even if they had been trapped somewhere, they had to have at least thought to convey their correspondence. Had they simply decided that it wouldn’t make a difference? And if that was the case, why had the timing been different? If they had been together, surly the timing of deaths would have been the same, so that couldn’t have been right, but then what?

Truth be told, from a certain perspective, he could almost understand Tango. Only because his first batch of deaths had been so immediate, it could almost be believed that he was simply…testing. Like failing to make a difficult jump in a batch of parkour, falling over and over again as you desperately try to reach the next target but falling short every time. Actually, that almost seemed quite a plausible occurrence for Tango, now that he thought of it. It might even explain his lack of deaths since the beginning. If he had tried every other possible occurrence and had failed each time, all that left for him was to simply wait it out. And if he was outside, as Grian was positive he was, that would have explained the Phantoms. The lack of other mobs not so much, but everything else checked out.

But what about Etho? Tango made sense, to a degree, but Etho? Why the sudden upsurge of deaths now? Had something happened? Was this merely a call for help or something else entirely? Why hadn’t Etho continued to be slain by Phantoms as Tango had? He had no achievements, so he couldn’t possibly have set his spawn elsewhere, they would have seen, and so surly his deaths now had to bring him back to his original starting point. But that only brought him back to his original question.

Why now?

These are the thoughts that plague his mind as he collects the remainder of his things, finally breaking a human sized hole into the face of his otherwise pristine wall before stepping out onto the snow-covered rock of the mountain top.

The cold air hits him almost immediately, sending shocks of cold spiralling around his neck, up his spine, and he shivers, pulling the oversized sleeves of his jumper down over his palms as he watches the tendrils of breath leave his mouth in a ragged cloud of white mist. The sun has just barely left the apex of the horizon, and he stares out at the pale purple of the mountains that are bathed in its morning twilight.

Ping!

Etho fell from a high place.

Grian once more throws a look down at his communicator. Up nice and early, as always I see…

He spends the next several minutes tearing down the remaining structure of his cabin, the movement bringing some life back into his tired limbs, and when he finally collects the last of his things, he finds the sun has now risen just enough so as to bathe the terrain with its warming rays, and when he looks back out across the horizon, every surface now appears as a brilliant glistening gold.

Ping!

The sound of his communicator rings out loudly, and he hears the sound echo prominently as it bounces from mountain to mountain. A thought strikes him as he looks out at the towering spires of mountainous cliff. A childish sort of urge, really. It was ridiculous and stupid and would accomplish absolutely nothing, but for just a moment, even just a minuscule of a second he thought, maybe he would let himself have just a little bit of fun. And without a second thought he raises his hands to his face, cupping them around his mouth, and he shouts with every last bit of gusto that his small body could muster.

“ECHOOOOOOO!!!”

The phrase rings out loud and strong, echoing back at him several times before disappearing into nothing. He breaks in to a large grin, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all, and he calls again.

“HELLO!! MY NAME IS GRIAN!!! ECHOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

Again, the final words are repeated back before the sound disappears into the mountains. He lets out a heavy, contented sort of sigh. That had felt good. There was something empowering about the act of letting yourself go, almost primal. Like a wolf howling at the moon, screaming all of its grievances into the night. It was almost therapeutic in a way, freeing. It had felt like so long since he’d seen another person, he’d barely even heard himself talk these last few weeks aside from the occasional yelling at the monsters that attacked while his back was turned, but this was different. Yelling at the mobs had been instinctive, almost reflex. Like a surprised sort of squeak that just sort of slips out without meaning. But this has been deliberate. This had been more , and as he finishes his second call, he is suddenly struck with the realization that this is the most he has felt like himself since the start of their little escapade.

He is just about to resign himself from his bit of fun for the day and make his way down the mountain when he suddenly hears something that stops him in his tracks. A sound that, quite frankly, he wasn’t expecting to hear.

“...Hello?? ”

Grian blinks, looking out at the landscape before him. “…Hello?” He looks around, trying to discern the direction of the voice he had just heard, but he sees nothing in his direct line of vision.

“Grian? ” The voice comes again.

“Yes?” He replies. “Who is that?”

“It’s TFC!”

“TFC?” He turns around completely now, but to no avail. He still sees nothing. “Where are you?”

“In the mountains.”

“ Where? I don’t see you.” He walks to the edge of the cliff this time, looking down it’s face before glancing upwards, as if half expecting the man to simply fall from the sky. “Can you see me?”

“No.”

Ping!

The sound of his communicator draws his attention to the device, and he pulls it out quickly, turning on his screen.

“What are your coordinates? I’ll come to you!”

It takes Grian only a few minutes to traverse across the terrain, running as fast as his little legs would carry him, and he arrives at his destination several minutes later panting and thoroughly out of breath.

“Oh my goodness, a person! Finally! ” He practically drags himself up onto the edge of TFCs mountain, immediately buckling down and resting his hands on his knees as he allows himself to catch his breath. “Oh man, these mountains are treacherous! ”

TFC smiles lightly, a twinkling sort of smile, one that accentuates each individual crease in the corner of his eye, and Grian is suddenly struck by just how much warmth the man conveyed with just that single action. “I might know an inkling of the feeling.”

“Is this where you started?”

TFC shrugs. “More or less. You know, give or take a few kilometres or so. Not much to do but walk, really, but I guess you’ve found the flaw in that.”

“I don’t remember mountains ever being this tall…” Grian mutters. TFC chuckles.

“Everything’s got it’s drawbacks I suppose, but I can’t complain.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well. A lot better than I am, that’s for sure.”

“Just gotta find the bright side, is all. Figured I’d embrace the philosophy of a Mr. Hills. I get to go somewhere I’ve never been. Sounds an awful lot like an adventure.” He gives another twinkling smile before turning his gaze, putting his hands in his pockets and looking off into the distance. “Besides,” he shrugs, “mountain’s got a few perks here and there.”

“Like what?”

“One heck of a view.”

Grian was inclined to agree. Although, as he turned to follow the man’s gaze, he suddenly felt just the barest pang of hunger strike him. He had been a bit reckless in his stamina on the trip over, maybe not as conservative as he probably should have been with his energy. And it wasn’t a lot. Just enough to let him know that he was in fact going to need to eat again at some point. That was the thing about mountains. They seemed to have this effect. Grian had barely walked more than a few hundred metres and he was already feeling it’s effects, but as he glances sideways at his new companion, he is suddenly struck with the realization that the man had to have traveled much further, and by comparison had put up with it for much longer than he.

“Have you eaten?” He asks. TFC shrugs.

“Not so many things, but you make do.” He didn’t elaborate on this, but as Grian looked back out at the almost barren mountain range before them, not an animal in sight, although still a few rotted remains of the previous nights reigning creatures scattered about the landscape, he couldn’t help but wonder if this in fact had constituted the man’s diet. “Been gettin’ by alright. Was just on my way to that there forest to see if I could get me some tools and find me some cows.” He gestures to the same spruce forest that Grian had seen the night before. He hums.

“Well, I don’t have any meat, but I do have some extremely stale bread.” He produces a loaf from his pocket, willing the eraser sized object to its full size, and handing it to the man directly. He hadn’t bothered asking if he’d want it. He knew the environment had a significant shortage of food, but he also  knew that TFC had never been one to ask for help, and the act of Grian asking was likely only to be met with a polite decline. However, if he didn’t give him the option to refuse …

TFC beams down at the object that had just been placed in his hand, smiling brightly as if Grian had just given him a full 3 course meal as opposed to a few bits of stale bread that were probably still half infused with bits of cobweb and dust from being in storage for so long. “Well I thank you very much, it’s awful kind of you.” He takes a large bite of the substance, consuming the entirety of the first loaf before moving on to another, and he lets out a satisfied sort of sigh. “Ah, would you look at that. Got some spring to my step again. Now,” he rolls his shoulders, stretching his muscles, and he looks back over at Grian. “We were going to the forest?”

—

They had stuck to the edge of the biome, hugging along the wall of trees as they made their way along. It was much easier to traverse there, without having to meander over hills and cliffs that quickly became tiring, or through the thickets of towering trees that easily became disorienting. It was much easier to see where they were going, and they had covered a significant distance in this manner.

That is, until the pair had stumbled upon something that they weren’t necessarily expecting to see.

“Holy craters, Batman.” Grian exclaims, looking down into the depths of a large hole just off the edge of the taiga. There was a village there, perched upon the incline. Or rather, what he imagined, was supposed to have been a village.

“Now that there is a large hole.” TFC interjects, he too staring down into the massive crater at their feet. A massive crater positively bursting to the brim with…villagers? Grian blinks.

“Is that natural? I’ve never seen such a large crater before.”

TFC shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell you.”

“Let’s get a closer look.”

It had to have been a generation glitch. It was the only plausible explanation. It was like a meteor had struck the ground, wiping out half the village in the process, leaving nothing but a mess of stone and gravel and broken houses in its wake.

Although, there was one house, that he could see, that still looked relatively in tact.

A house which, as it now stood, was currently completely surrounded by at least 7 iron golems.

“What on earth..?”

The pair walk towards the house to investigate, examining it closely.

“What happened here? Is there a mob inside do you reckon?”

“Grian?”

Grian jumps, startled. For the voice that had answered had not belonged to TFC. No, quite to the contrary, the voice hadn’t even come from the man’s general direction. Instead, the voice he had heard had come from inside the mob of golems.

“Grian, is that you?” It calls again.

Grian blinks. “…Impulse?”

“ Oh good! Hi! Yes! Yes it’s me! I’m here! Umm…I need help.”

“What are you even doing in there?” Grian takes a step closer. “And why are there so many golems here?!”

“It’s kinda a long story, but the golems might be just a little bit mad at me? Umm…I can’t get out.”

“Impulse?” TFC steps closer to the edge. “It’s TFC. You ok in there?”

“ Oh hi! More people! I mean kind of? I’m not hurt or anything, I just— I can’t get out.”

“How did you even get in there?” Grian questions.

“I don’t even know!” The voice exclaims. “I was just trapped in this pit and I kept accidentally hitting the villagers and the golems kept killing me and then one threw me up here and now I can’t get out!”

Despite the situation, Grian smiles, wading his way forward into the mass of golems and towards the house. “Hang on, we’re coming.” He shoves at the creatures, doing his best to push them aside, but they would barely budge an inch before moving right back to where they had started. “Wow, you really are stuck in here.”

“Right?! They won’t leave me alone!”

He grunts as he tries to push another out of the way, but to no avail. It simply shifts back to its original position. “They really won’t! This is so difficult!” He laughs despite himself. “They’re really mad at you, they aren’t budging. I think we’re gonna have to—“ and then a thought strikes him. An evil, devious sort of thought. One that only his mischievous brain could have possibly concocted in the moment. Impulse was at his mercy. He was most definitely stuck and certainly wouldn’t be able to get himself out any time soon, and it had been so long since Grian had caused any solid bit of mischief, and it wasn’t as if it would really hurt him at all. And with the situation practically being handed to him on a silver platter, it seemed a shame to let such an opportune moment pass him by. Grian grins deviously.

“Actually, I might just— I might just leave you here actually.”

“Wait what?!” Comes the strangled sounds of Impulses voices from behind the wall.

Grian smirks. “Yeah! It’s all protected, we know where you are, I see no downsides to this!”

“ I do!” Impulse protests. “You can’t just leave me here by myself!

Ping!

Etho fell from a high place.

Grians smirk only grows wider. “See! There you go, Etho’s keeping you company! We’re all good!”

“No! Don’t—“

“There’s quite a bit of crops out here actually, we should definitely go collect those.”

“Don’t you be stealing all my crops, come on!”

“ Bye Impulse! We’re gonna go explore the rest of the village!

“Grian no! Come back! Grian! ”

Grian laughs, but it is Etho who gets the last word. Because with another ping of his communicator, his messages suddenly begin to change. Gone was his string of persistent death messages that had plagued him all morning. Instead, what now replaces them is something completely different, with each notification differing greatly from the last. A string of messages that continue for the next several minutes before growing quiet - all a perpetuated catalyst of a single notification.

Etho has just earned the achievement [Getting Wood].

Chapter 42: Xisuma

Notes:

Alternate title: the author loses her mind trying to make 4380 words of Piglin Bartering sound entertaining…

It is 2 am and I’m gonna go take a nap now 😅

“Ok, let’s try this one more time.” Xisuma takes a deep breath, steepling his hands in front of his face and staring down at the trapped Piglin before him. “I am looking for obsidian .” He starts. “ Ob-si-dee-an.” He enunciates each syllable of the word as if this will somehow help the creature understand, but he knows it’s just a front. He didn’t think anything would draw reason from them, but still he tries none the less. He liked to pretend that he retained at least some small semblance of control. That anything that he did in this world would make even the slightest of difference. He had never liked the concept of chance. The idea that anything was uncertain - a rather unsettling preference given their current predicament. As if anything they had done so far had been accomplished by anything other than pure unbridled luck.

When that saddled strider had appeared, a phenomenon that possessed only a 0.033% chance of occurrence, that had been luck. When its rider had dropped its rod upon death, allowing him a means of escaping his starting island, that had been luck. When Stress and Cub had happened across his spawn, hereby allowing them to track him down and the three to reunite once more, that had been luck. And now —

Now it seemed his luck was finally starting to run out.

An enderpearl is tossed on the ground before him and he groans, slumping forward from where he sat cross-legged on the ground, and he puts his head in his hands. “Come on buddy, I’m dyin’ here.”

“More gold.” Comes the sound of Cubs voice from somewhere behind him and X looks up at the sound of his approach. “Any obsidian yet?”

Xisuma sighs. “Well if you count the imaginary one I found in my head about half an hour ago, then we have a solid negative zero.”

He hears the tell tale creak of a chest lid as Cub opens the contraption at his side, followed closely by a sharp tingling clang as the man allows the remaining deposits of gold to slip from his grasp and join the others in a cascade of metal. The sound lingers longer than he thinks strictly necessary, and he knows that Cub is fidgeting, letting each chink of gold slip from his hands like dropping sand between his fingertips. It’s a distraction, he thinks. Cub was distracting himself. Or stalling, perhaps. He had been running back and forth between their make-shift gold farm for at least half an hour and he was sure the man wasn’t keen on making another return trip quite so soon - they had no means of obtaining the redstone for a proper collection system.

After a brief bit of trading and a bit of  pooling of resources, they had managed to scrounge together enough iron nuggets to constitute the ingots required for a hopper,  but even then that was hardly enough. Their system might not have been the most efficient, but with no means of filtering, even their  storage tended to overflow rather quickly.

Which meant that Cub had been kept  busy.

“You know I’m pretty sure zero can’t actually be a negative number.” The man remarks, the last of Cubs gold sliding from his hands and the tingling sound stops at last.

“Tell that to this guy.” Xisuma replies with a huff. Cub looks over at him.

“Come on Xisuma, you show that guy who’s boss.”

Xisuma looks back at the creature doubtfully, but once again picks up another ingot of gold, sliding it across the ground towards the Piglin. A moment later, a clawed hand appears over the rim of the hole and snatches it away. Xisuma takes a deep breath.

“Alright buddy, come on! I just want a little bit of obsidian. Just a little bit of obsidian, ok? You can do that right? Come on, please?”

He watches the creature examine the object closely, like a curator carefully pouring over the brush strokes of a painting as if inspecting it for signs of forgery. It almost reminded him of how a geologist might identify a gemstone. Observing its colour, its shine, each individual crack and fracture along its surface, even bringing the commodity to its lips as if testing for indications of salt. Several seconds later it pockets the item, evidentially deciding that it will pass as acceptable, and a singular clear glass vial is rolled across the ground towards him, it’s bright orange liquid shimmering as it sloshes against the glass, and the vial rolls to a stop at his foot. Xisuma looks back up at Cub pathetically.

“Nah nah nah, man you’re doing it all wrong.” Cub shakes his head, gesturing incredulously down at him. “I mean what is this, you call that showin’ it who’s boss? Nah nah, gimmie this, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Cub circumnavigates around the unceremonious hole in the ground, rounding the Piglin until the creature is now positioned directly between the two men. He tosses a piece of gold into the air and catches it expertly, confidently, and Xisuma is vaguely given the impression of a man in a casino, challenging his opponent by flaunting his wealth, all while maintaining the steely coolness of an aura that screamed “I am going to rob you of everything you own.” Cub nods down at the Piglin.

“Hey. Guy. Yeah, over here.” The Piglin pivots in its hole, now turning to look over at the new voice addressing it. Cub catches the ingot from the air and waves it enticingly, twisting it in a way that allowed the light to gleam off its golden edges, and the creatures gaze follows it immediately, tracing its path as Cub continues to wave the object about, teasing. “You see this?” Cub grins devilishly. “Yeah you know what that is.” He crouches now, leaning closer to the Piglin and holding the offered gold before its face. A clawed hand reaches out as if to grab it, but Cub merely jerks his hand back, pulling the golden treasure just beyond reach and the creature grunts. “Black rock. Yay big. Hard as heck. You know what I mean?” The Piglin looks up at him and Cub smirks triumphantly. “You gonna give me what I want?” He receives another grunt in response and he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He tosses the bar onto the ground and the Piglin immediately scoops it up in its arms, examining it. Several seconds later, the creature tosses him several bits of loose gravel and then turns away. X does his best to suppress a smile.

“I think he’s laughing at you.”

“Hey! Listen guy! Yeah I’m talking to you.” The Piglin once again turns in its hole, staring up at the man innocently. “We had a deal going on, remember? Obsidian?” The Piglin merely blinks, as if perfectly confused by the request. Xisuma smiles.

“Go on then, show ‘im who’s boss, Cub. You gonna take that?”

“Listen guy. We’re gonna have problems you an me, alright?” He holds up another piece of gold. “Now, imma give you this, but you gotta gimmie that obsidian alright? It’s real important. Understand?” He receives a grunt in response and he once again tosses another piece of gold on the ground. Several seconds later something grey is tossed from the hole, small and compact and smouldering, as if someone had compacted the coals of a fire into a singular ball, creating the orb of subdued flame that now sat at his feet, red-hot and glowing as if those same flames still surged within its core. A singular fire charge. Two sets of eyes stare down at the object and Xisuma cracks an amused smile.

“That felt like a threat.”

“Oh yeah, that was definitely a threat.” Xisuma agrees.

“Oh I’ll threaten him alright.”

“What are we, good cop bad cop?”

Cub grins. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“‘ ello! ”

X turns in his place, craning his neck over his shoulder to look towards the source of the new voice, and a moment later Stress joins him at his side.

“Heyo!” Cub greets.

“‘ow’s it goin’?” The woman asks.

Xisuma sighs. “It’s not.”

“Yeah, the guys being difficult.” Cub agrees.

Stress peeks over his shoulder, staring down at the Piglin as if assessing the situation, and she hums. “Maybe he’s scared like? I mean, I dunno about you, but I wouldn’t much like being stuck in a hole surrounded by strangers meself.”

“Yeah, that Xisuma is pretty strange looking, I’ll tell you that.” Cub cracks a smile.

“Strange?!” He exclaims. Stress bursts out laughing, a sound that hits him like the majesty of glistening silver trumpets, resonating beautifully against his ear like the ringing of a crystal bell. He wants to make a jab at Cub for the comment, but there’s something infectious about her laugh, and he can’t help but crack a smile at the remark. “What do you mean, strange?!”

“Yeah yeah, isn’t it obvious? I mean that face, bro, come on.” Cubs teasing continues. “It’s just— and the shirt , I mean come on, jeez man.”

“…What’s wrong with my shirt?!” Stress only laughs harder, and he can feel a giggle somewhere at the back of his throat. “I like this shirt! Awe…”

“Aweee, I ‘fink your beautiful, X!” Stress’ laughter subdues a bit, though her voice still carries just a subtle hint of mirth. Although whether this is simply the remains of her own fleeting laughter or rather just a permanent aspect of Stress herself he couldn’t say.

“Thank you!” He shifts towards her ever so slightly before turning back to Cub, nodding a head towards the woman at his side in gesture. “I’m staying over here with her.”

Cub chuckles lightly before dropping it, now turning to look at Stress. “You have any luck?”

“Oh yeah, loads! Check out all this debris!” She extracts several bits from her pocket, holding up the rather unsuspecting looking nye indestructible stone. “Enough for at least a few ingots. Few bits ah gold too, bit o’ quartz.”

Xisuma blinks.

“Maybe she should try this instead, hey? She’s clearly got all the luck between the three of us…”

“Ay?”

“Yeah yeah, Stress come over here, come give it a shot.” Cub agrees, motioning with his hand as if the action will physically draw her closer. Stress caulks her head, tentatively walking forwards as if unsure.

“Oh, umm, ok…?”

“Yeah yeah, here, take some gold. Give it a go.” Cub nods encouragingly, thrusting a piece of gold into her hand, and she turns towards the pit between them.

“Umm…ok.”

Xisuma watches her approach, curious. They had already tried his method of negotiating. And Cubs. And with nothing to show for either of their efforts, he was curious as to how her own approach might effect their results. He watches her walk forward, right to the edge of the pit, and then she stops.

“‘Ello geezer! ‘Ow are you?” She starts, plopping herself down and moving to sit cross legged on the ground much like X had done, although herself positioned significantly closer to the creature than he. “Look! I got a little presi for ya! See here? Just for you!” She takes the gold from her hand, placing it right on the ledge of the hole, and then waits. Two seconds later, a clawed hand picks up the object and Stress beams brightly. “Awee, there you go! There’s a good geezer!”

And that’s when she does something that Xisuma doesn’t expect. Knowing what he knew of her, where she had started, what she had been through, he didn’t think it was too much of a stretch to say that he had been expecting at least some small degree of caution. Knowing the pain she must have suffered, a pain that these same creatures had inflicted upon her, he had been expecting restraint, and so her next actions quite frankly take him off guard. And with zero hesitation, he watches in awe as Stress reaches a hand forward, delicately stroking the short hairs on top of the creatures head.

There was something soft about the motion, warm. An action that possessed all the tenderness and care of a mother gently combing the tangles from the head of her sleeping child. And despite his earlier comment, there was in fact an air of caution about her movements, although not in the manner that he had expected. Her motions were smooth, deliberate, delivered with a precise level of exercised care that showed every ounce of restraint that the woman poured into the motion, and that’s when it hits him. She’s trying not to hurt it. With each stroke of her hand, she’s trying to instil a sense of calm, and he suddenly feels a bit bad for the creature and how he had left it.

Several seconds later, a singular black rock is tossed from the hole, and then there on the ground, almost close enough to tap with his foot, is their first piece of obsidian. Stress beams.

“Ay! Look at me go! I’m so good at this!”

Xisuma blinks incredulously. “What is this nonsense?! Been at it all morning and you come along and get one on your first try?!”

“Awe, I guess he likes me! Isn’t that right Mr. Geezer?!”

If Piglins could smile, Xisuma was pretty sure that one just had. Cub shakes his head.

“Well he’s clearly broken, let me try this.” Cub throws down another bit of gold. The Piglin takes it. Several seconds later, several more bits of loose gravel are thrown in his direction, and the creature turns his back. Xisuma laughs.

“Nope, seems perfectly functional to me.”

“Come on, X! You try!”

“What—“ but before he could even utter another word there are suddenly hands at his wrists, tugging him forward, and he awkwardly stumbles towards the pit with a sort of half crawling drag.

Stress beams over at him, nodding her head encouragingly. “Come on! Give ‘im a little pat!”

“You realize these are the same creatures that spent days trying to kill you, right?”

“And succeeded several times.” Cub adds.

“Awe, it’s not ‘is fault now, is it?” She strokes the Piglins head once more. “‘Ow would you feel if some strangers just started pokin’ round your place? You wouldn’t much like it neither.” She looks back at him and smiles, reaching back once more to take his hand. “Now come on, be gentle like.”

He allows her hand to guide him forward, tugging him along until his own is just above the top of its head, and she stops. Xisuma blinks.

“Uh…hey there buddy.” He tries. His other hand twists an ingot between his fingers and he brings it forwards, holding it out in his palm. “Got some gold here for ya.” He offers. The Piglin looks down at his hand curiously before reaching out, plucking the ingot from his palm and examining it. Stress gives his shoulder a nudge, and under some incitement from the woman he finally reaches those last few inches, resting his hand atop the creatures head and giving a solitary pat.

Several seconds later, something black is tossed out, and for a very brief second he almost thinks he’s done it. Until he sees the purple ooze leaking through its cracks.

“…Well, it’s technically obsidian.” Cub supplies helpfully. Stress beams brightly at the Piglin, as if the creature had given him a full armful of diamonds and not a solitary chunk of oozing rock.

“Awe, it’s lovely! Fank’ you for the lovely gift! You did such a good job!” She strokes the Piglins head again, once more handing it a piece of gold for its troubles, and it tosses her another bit of obsidian.

Cub shakes his head incredulously. “I call hacks, man…”

“Dawe, I’m sure you’ll get some obsidian soon!” She remarks, climbing to her feet once more and straightening out the wrinkles of her shirt. She makes as if to leave then, jabbing a thumb in the direction of their little makeshift village, and she waves a chunk of debris in the air.   “Back in a mo, gonna empty meself back at the house. Pockets a bit full.”

Xisuma watches her for a fraction of a moment before a thought pops into his head and he scrambles to his feet. “Actually, wait up. Since we’re all here, now seems as good a time as any.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a surprise.” He catches up with Stress and motions for Cub to follow. “But let’s get back to the house first. Bit safer that way.”

They had created a little village commune within their small perimeter. Although “they”, he admitted, might have been a bit inaccurate. Most of the village had been constructed by Stress, who added little bits and bobs each time she came up from her mining expeditions. Nothing extensive, really. Merely a few houses dotted about that they had used as a means of safety whilst in the area - mostly empty of course. One of them even intersected their fence gate border, and they used this particular house as a means of accessing resources that were beyond their walls, namely the Hoglins. The large herd had in fact not moved on, and they didn’t dare take the risk of trying to bypass them this far into their endeavours. Although as annoying as this may have been, they did happen to provide them with a resource that, at this stage, possessed a relatively significant value.

Food.

The Hoglins provided them with meat. Pork specifically, but it was more than enough. He still didn’t dare venture out any more than a few feet outside their walls, but the Hoglins large bodies provided the creatures with a significant disadvantage in that they couldn’t seem to fit through their ordinary doors. Most of the time one simply had to stand within the doorway and they’d come right to you, a rather simple and yet ingenious plan, he thought. They’d even provided a bit of soulfire at the village centre which they used to cook the meat. With a few more decorations, their little village might have almost looked like a proper hunting camp.

They approach one of the houses. It was a squat little thing, with walls of crimson bubbling out at the sides like a sort of collapsed fungus. It had a second story as well, one of the few houses that did, although not directly aligned with the base. Another bubbling mass sat atop the first, just slightly askew, almost like they had once been stacked proper only to have since toppled, leaving the building with its leaning diagonal of wonk that was now being supported only by a couple of crimson logs that propped up the second floor like a pair of stilts. It reminded him of something you might find in the depths of a forest, perhaps off the edge of a swamp, and he figured he really shouldn’t have been surprised given who had constructed it.

They walk up to the door, passing only a couple of zombie pigmen as they go. Cub had spawn proofed the majority of their little area, at least within their small perimeter. The outskirts were a bit more difficult, particularly the farther you got back from shore - the Hoglins made it a bit more of a hassle, and most of the outskirting area, he would admit, was mostly untouched, but most of their lava beach had been completely converted. Only a couple of the lands previous residence remained within their walls, wandering aimlessly as if they were lost. It wasn’t like they could really get rid of them without inciting war, but the creatures weren’t particularly harming anything either. They had all but faded into the background at this point, the trio instead focusing their energy on the more immediate threats in the area. Which brought Xisuma to his current task.

“Alright, what’s this surprise then?”

“Hang on.” He approaches a crafting table off to the side, pulling several items from his pockets and turning his back on his friends. And when he turns back around, he holds out his hand, in the palm of which now sat a small, shrunken version, of a respawn anchor.

“Oh my god!” Stress exclaims.

“Ayy! Look at this guy holding out on us!” Cub claps.

He wills the device to its full size, placing it down in the centre of the room and producing a handful of glow stone, tossing the bits into the top. It lets out an odd sound as each piece hits the bottom, like striking a metal rod underwater, and he watches as the basin fills incrementally with a clouded purple ooze, almost like the stones themselves had been turned to liquid, a liquid that rises until it reaches the rim of the container and then it stops.

Xisuma has made the advancement [Not Quite “Nine” Lives]

He looks up at his friends.

“Together?”

Each of them approaches the side of the basin, stretching out an arm, and with a swift nod from Xisuma, they each plunge a hand into the swirling purple ooze. He feels a sudden jolt wrack it’s way up his arm, like he had just taken hold of a live wire and couldn’t let go. It travels up his arm, his neck, coursing through his veins like his very blood is trying to re-write his own DNA. His very thoughts feel scrambled, fuzzy, as if someone was shaking his brain like a cup of dice ready for a roll. He didn’t think he could even move, his whole body paralyzed on the spot, and it almost feels like his insides are turning themselves out. And then the sound hits him. A sharp hissing crack, like a rapid release of pressurized acid, and his body rights itself, giving one solitary shutter as if he had merely suffered a sudden chill, and then everything stops.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Guardian using magic.

The ping of his communicator stuns him back to reality, and when he looks back down at the purple liquid, he finds he can now move his hand with ease, as if merely dragging his fingertips through a basin of water.

“Sweeeeet man.” He looks up to see Cub flex his fingers experimentally, and the man balls his hand into a fist.

“Hang on.” He says suddenly, reaching for something at his hip, and his hand holds up the tip of a golden sword, turning its hilt towards his friend and raising an eyebrow. Cub blinks.

“What, now? ”

Xisuma shrugs. “Good a time as any. The others need to know.” He tosses the sword to Cub and the man catches it with a practiced ease. “We’ll make the rounds so they know. One each, so it’s fair.” He looks at each of them in turn before eventually squaring his gaze on Cub. “Come on Cub, take your best shot.

“Alright, you asked for it.” Cub squares his shoulders, taking a fighting stance as he holds the sword aloft, and he looks up at Xisuma. “You ready?”

He nods. “Hit me.”

And he does. They each take a turn with the sword, watching each death message appear and making their way around the circle, and once they have finished with their rounds, Cub once again turns to him, handing him back his sword.

“Alright. It’s done.” Cub steps aside then, sweeping a hand in gesture towards the door and giving a playful waggle of his eyebrows. “Shall we get back to work?”

But they don’t get far. They had only made it about half the distance to their Piglin friend when they are suddenly stopped cold by a loud squeal, followed closely by the sound of a blood curdling scream, and Xisuma turns all too late. His stomach drops. Because there was Stress, her chest spattered with fresh blood, sword held aloft and terror in her eyes, and a now dead Zombified Piglin at her feet. It takes him only a moment to realize what’s happened, and then he’s running.

“ Inside! ” He yells, grabbing onto someone’s hand, and promptly dragging whoever it was back towards the building they had just left, the chorus of grunting squeals already starting to reach his ears.

“What happened?!”

“Stress, what did you do?!”

“It wasn’t me! He attacked me first!”

The three practically vault themselves through the door, slamming it behind them. He can hear an army of squeals coming through the far wall, and he shoves a bunch of netherrack in front of the door for good measure.

“You sure you didn’t hit it by accident?”

“I swear! I wasn’t even looking at it! He just came up behind and started attacking me! Neither of you hit one?”

Cub shakes his head, trying to catch his breath.

“Where are they even coming from? I thought we spawn proofed the area.”

“Well not all of it! I wasn’t about to go out there with all those Hoglins!” Cub exclaims. “Besides, it didn’t really matter so long as we stayed at the front half of the property.”

“So what you’re saying is we picked about the worst possible place to hide out right now.”

“Hmm, I wonder...”

Two sets of eyes turn to look at Xisuma. Stress raises a questioning eyebrow.

“X?”

“Well, if a Pigman is hit in multiplayer, it becomes hostile to everyone, even people who didn’t attack it.” He explains.

“Ok?” She prompts. “What does that mean for us?”

“Well, aside from the fact that the Pigmen appear to be angry with us, and they tend to spawn in very large groups and how this might make things a little more problematic...”

“Go on.”

“I mean, I suppose it’s possible it was just Scar or something, but if Bdubs is dying to guardians I don’t see why Scar of all people would be in the Nether without him, and if none of us hit a pigman...”

He trails off, allowing the sentence to go unfinished, the 3 reflecting upon the now symphony of angry squeals collecting outside their walls as they take in the implications of this notion.

“You think there’s somebody else in the Nether.”

Chapter 43: VintageBeef

Notes:

Can I tag a fic as slow burn, but like the relationship is just the audience and the plot?

Why me?

It wasn’t the first time that this exact phrase had crossed his mind.

Why me?

What could he have possibly done to have deserved this? He was a good person. He was kind. Loveable. The type of person who poured every ounce of himself into the love and care that he showed for others. He kept his chin up, his nose clean. Beef was a pacifist; one who had never cared much for a fight. And amidst his friends, their many assailants and warriors, their miscreants and duelists, their pyromaniacs and pranksters and all around troublemakers who thrived off of the chaos of war, he was but a stark Switzerland. And so on the whole, he didn’t particularly have any qualms or argumentations against the statement that he really didn’t deserve this.

Because if ever there was to be a Hell, this was it.

He doubles over, coughing loudly as he takes a breath of white ash into his lungs — Again, a fairly common occurrence. The residue was everywhere here. Enough that any onlooker of any small distance might have mistaken it for snow. But he knew better. Because here, in the thick of it all, he recognized the substance for what it was. A perpetual rain of white ash that clung to the air like a dust, sticking to the inside of his lungs like a shrink wrap collapsing the organs from the inside.

He coughs and he coughs. So hard he can feel himself wretch. Because that’s just what I need… He thinks. To vomit all the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Not that there was anything there to come up. He hadn’t eaten in days, or rather at all really, and instead here he stood, dry-heaving over the ground, hacking as if he really was expecting a full lung to heave its way up and wretch itself onto the floor. And that smell . That horrible horrible smell. Like the strongest combination of smoke and sulphur. Like someone had taken a dozen or so rotted eggs and boiled them hot, the resulting scent wafting through the air like a hot sewage. He almost thinks he can see the heat radiating through the air, can feel as the putrid waft is soaked up into his pores and leaked out into his sweat. The smell is enough to turn his stomach, doing absolutely nothing to quell the bile from rising in his throat, and amidst his hacking, somewhere at the back of his mind, he can hear that same persistent thought.

Why me?

He grasps at his apron, pulling the cloth up over his nose as if to shield himself from the air, although weather to combat the ash or the smell he couldn’t say. But it does the trick. He coughs only a few more times before his hacking subsides, dislodging the bits of ash from his throat enough to take in a few strangled breaths, and he gasps into the fabric as if his lungs had not tasted oxygen in days.

He stands there for a few moments, holding the cloth up over his nose and breathing heavily into the fabric. He can feel a sharp pain in his side, the twisting stab of his stomach muscles that ached and pained as if they were being both stretched and squeezed simultaneously; a side effect of his near constant hacking. Stupid ash … And as he catches his breath, he looks out over the landscape before him.

Twisted spires of jagged rock fills his peripheral. Cobbled pillars stretch high and low, like a darkened abstract of city skyline silhouetted amongst the rock. Magma slags and lava pools surround igneous geysers, suspended over cliffs and shelves of scorched stone, blackened and charred beyond all recognition that hung suspended over seas of liquid fire. The very landscape looked broken. Jagged and cracked and snapped at its edges, with shelves of basalt like sheets of stone, layered amongst the lava falls like he was looking through the 9 circles of hell. Because of course, there had to be layers to his suffering. He’s high enough now that he can barely even see the lava lake through the smoke. The lower cliffs of jagged rocks all but disappear amongst the grey fog like they’re being swallowed by the mist, a task only aided more by the perpetual rain of white ash that fell at a rate so alarming it was a wonder he wasn’t buried in it.

If ever there was to be a more un-traversable terrain, he would have loved to see it.

He makes his way along, doing his best to avoid lava pockets and pitfalls, leaping from rock to rock like the worlds most intricate parkour, only this time the path isn’t guaranteed to reach the other side of the course. And until he found a respawn anchor, there were no checkpoints here. This was a ride or die world, and he was living in it wether he liked it or not.

This was Hell. Not even just his Hell, because this was The Hell. The Basalt Delta had to have been the worst biome in the Nether. There was no food, no water. The only mobs that spawned were only the excessively hostile, ones that either tried to shoot him with flaming projectiles or would duplicate if struck too many times. He had no means of making tools, it was hot as all hell, and the terrain absolutely sucked . There were literally no upsides to this particular situation. And it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, really. Literally none of them liked the Basalt Deltas. He supposed one of them would have had to get it as their unfortunate spawn. But did it really have to be him?

He is traversing along for what felt to have been hours before he spots something along the terrain, and for the first time throughout his entire excursion, he feels just the tiniest minuscule sliver of hope.

There was a ruined portal there, cracked and broken, sat atop a crumbling alter that was black and charred and interspersed with flecks of gold like the remains of an ancient offering. He makes a beeline towards the structure, rushing straight for the chest and prying open its lid.

A golden chest-plate, which he slips on immediately, a sword, an enchanted apple, a glistening melon, a few bits of flint, and finally several scraps of golden nuggets. But nothing else.

No…

There was no obsidian. He looks up at the frame. It was missing most of its right side and a good half of its top. Coupled with the ooze infested rocks interspersed throughout the remaining supports, he was missing almost half a portal, and it wasn’t as if he could merely break it down and take the healthy prospects with him. He had no tools. Which meant that aside from the few scraps of food and armour he had obtained, this structure was all but useless to him.

He sighs internally, already stepping away from the broken portal and mentally preparing himself for another long trek through the jagged terrain, which is when he actually gets a proper look at the prospected framework and he stops.

The structure itself was rather unremarkable. Certainly no more put together than any other set of ruins he would find elsewhere. And yet there was something off about it. Nothing particularly ominous or foreboding - it wasn’t like he was expecting the crumbles of frame to suddenly sprout fangs and attack him. But still, there was something about it that was just…off. And as he looks a little closer, he suddenly understood why.

There was a chunk border there. At least, what he presumed had to have been the results of a chunk border; he didn’t see how else it would have been accomplished otherwise. A line of ash cut directly through the centre of the frame, slicing it in half. Like someone had started to clean and had stopped immediately at the centre line. And indeed, as he had noted, the left side appeared perfectly pristine, without so much as a speck of dust in sight. The right by contrast was filthy, littered with bits of ash like a powdered snow swirling over ice. And it didn’t stop there. The line stretched out from the portal, straight through the frame and down the crumbling incline of the pedestal, trailing all the way back through the terrain as if someone had draped an oversized blanket over the landscape, and this here was its edge. And if he thought that was bizarre, what happened next had to have given him the greatest shock of his life.

He had only stepped forward a couple of feet, just enough to cross that barrier line from right to left, and the most amazing thing happened. The ash had stopped. The sky had miraculously cleared like magic. Not even as if the ashen storm had simply been swept away on a breeze or had gradually ceased its frontline production and had slowed to a stop, but rather like it had not even existed at all. Just poof and it was gone. He looks back towards the other side. There was that same line on the ground as before, the only evidential remains left as proof of the once fallen ash still stretched across the terrain. But as he looked down at the carpet of ash, he noticed something strange.

The ground was moving . Not extensively. In fact, it was subtle enough that had he not been staring directly at it, he might not even have noticed at all. But now that he was, it was all he could see. It almost looked like it was vibrating. Wriggling as if infested with hundreds of microscopic insects directly below the surface. But as he squints down at it, he can see that it is not insects. It was tiny individual flecks of ash, plopping themselves down and adding to the pile of existing cinders with a poof. And as he watches the wriggling mass, a thought occurs to him.

He tentatively reaches a hand forward, holding his palm to the sky and allowing his fingers to cross the border. A second later, there is a light tingling against his fingertips, and he watches in amazement as several flecks of ash miraculously appear within his palm. He retracts his hand and the flecks disappear, as if disintegrating into a puff of smoke as they reach the border line.

Now that’s interesting…

Without really giving it much thought he steps back over the line. Immediately he is hit with a face full of ash, and he sputters briefly in surprise as he brushes the flecks from his beard. The ash had started falling again. Or rather still , he thinks, as he realizes it had never stopped in the first place. He just couldn’t see it from the other side.

It was a biome change, he realizes. He must have reached the border. And based off of the overall atmosphere, the excessive red of flat rock, the emptiness that filled the very small section of landscape within his peripheral, he had his money placed on a Nether Wastes.

Ping!

Xisuma has just earned the advancement [Who is Cutting Onions?]

He picks up his communicator, staring down at the words displayed there. That was crying obsidian. That advancement meant that Xisuma had obtained crying obsidian. An object that was found exclusively in the Nether. And that advancement had all but given him a direct insight into just what is was the man was doing.

Crying obsidian was relatively rare, and could only be obtained through a select means. It could have been looted from a Bastion, but Xisuma would have gotten an achievement from the opening of chests. He supposed it was possible that the man had simply broken the containers; if the achievement was for opening the chest, then perhaps it was possible to be canceled simply by the breaking of it, although he had no idea if this was actually a viable theory. But then again, he would have also gotten an advancement from entering the structure itself, and the only loophole out of this he could see would have been if the man had started there - you couldn’t really “enter” a structure if you were already there, and so this scenario seemed an unlikely possibility. He supposed it was possible that X had found a ruined portal; the rock was known to generate there as part of the structure as well, but unless the admin had somehow found himself a Diamond pick, a feat which seemed relatively improbable based on his current set of advancements, that left him with only one option.

Xisuma was bartering.

Which opened up a whole other realm of possibilities.

If X was bartering, that meant that he had to have access to Piglins, which again, could only be found in certain areas of the Nether. And with the Bastion scenario already knocked off his list, that would have had to place the man in either a Crimson Forest or a Nether Wastes, which severely narrowed down his search radius. And if he was bartering , as the name would suggest, that would mean he had to have something to barter with . And unless that was his first and only trade, this also suggested a steady access to gold.

For a man stuck in the Nether, the Piglin trades would have been entirely useless barre one. He needed their obsidian to make a portal, exactly 10 in fact, with only an 8% chance per trade. A rather pitiful percent of a chance based on their current demand. So unless he had already manually mined himself a whole ton of gold, he would need a way to keep up with that supply. And what better source would he find than that of a gold farm? And looking at his small list of biomes of choice, the Nether Wastes had just skyrocketed to the top.

Wait, Nether Wastes…?

He looks up from his communicator, staring down at the line of ash at his feet.

A beat.

“XISUMA—!“ He yells without really thinking, cutting himself off with another coughing fit, quickly grasping at his apron once more and pulling it back up over his nose. He sputters as he dislodges the fresh ash from his lungs, his throat now raw and sore, and he stumbles back over the biome border before calling again.

“X!” He wheezes out another cough. “X! Are you there?!” His words sound dry and hoarse, coming out as a mere croak of a voice that sounded rough even to his ears. There is, of course, no response. He wasn’t particularly expecting anything less really. That would have been too easy after all. It might not have even been this particular Nether Wastes, and it wasn’t like he was particularly far into this one.

And wouldn’t get much farther, he realizes. The remainder of the biome is cut off abruptly with a sharp drop that plummeted straight down to the lava lake below. And unless he got himself a Charon a La River Styx, or rather River Phlegethon in this particular case, he wasn’t getting across.

He sticks along the cliff, traveling many miles along its edge and occasionally shouting out for any signs of life, to which his calls are always met with stark silence. At least there was no ash here. He could at least make it 5 feet without suffocating himself from his excessive coughing, and the terrain was certainly a lot easier to traverse. Although, as he would soon discover, the excessive flatness of landscape did in fact have its drawbacks.

SCREEEEEEEEEEE!!

He hears the screech all too late, not even having the time to register what it means before he’s blasted off of his feet, straight off the edge of his precarious cliff, and then he’s plummeting to his death.

There was nothing there. Not ledge nor rock nor even a singular solitary square of land to place his aim - at least then his death would have been quick. Perhaps not particularly painless as was the common misconception, as simultaneously breaking every bone in your body was in fact very painful, but it was quick. Like ripping off a bandaid. Just the briefest flash of a second and then it was gone.

He wouldn’t get that now.

All that awaited him was pain. Just prolonged and excruciating agony. Because directly below him was the lava lake. A seemingly endless sea of molten lava that stretched out below him for an indeterminate amount of time. Basaltic lava was the hottest form of lava known to man, exceeding temperatures well above 950 degrees, which was more than enough to make this a very very unpleasant experience for him. There was nothing he could do. He had no wings, no potions, not a single solitary scrap of stone that he could use as a scaffolding. He was going to die here, an excruciatingly painful death, and what’s more, he was going to lose all of his items in the process, however few of them there may be.

Only, that is not what happens.

He feels the item more than he remembers that it’s there. He had reached inside of his pocket during his frenzied fall - more of a reflex than anything else really. When one was falling to their demise, it was only natural to look for a means of escape, but he hadn’t actually expected to find anything of use. Only, he had.

His fingers close around the object and he grasps it roughly, pulling his hand from his pocket with all the speed and desperation of a dying man, and he stares down at the enchanted apple now held within his grasp. He didn’t think he had ever actually used one before. They were so rare that most anyone that happened across one tended to keep it for posterity. They were used as a means of flaunting one’s wealth, displayed upon a pedestal or else locked away within the depths of guarded vaults like the worlds greatest treasure. And really, that was exactly what they were. One bite could fully heal even those upon the brink of death. It made one resistant, invulnerable, with a skin that could absorb even the most powerful attack and leave you unscathed. It could feed the hungry and cure all ills, and just a single bite was like the equivalent of taking the strongest energy shot known to man.

It wasn’t much of a competition really.

He would lose it either way, and yet he somehow didn’t think there was a person alive that would have made the other decision. And without a second thought, he raises the fruit to his lips and takes a large bite.

The taste hits his tongue like an explosion, the juice bursting in his mouth like a firecracker the second his teeth break through the gilded skin, and he can feel as each drop makes its way down his throat like a liquid gold. He almost feels like he’s glowing. Like if every nerve ending in his body was tingling so fiercely that they would actually possess a physical sparkle. But he doesn’t get to dwell on that feeling. Because in that instant, he hits the lava. Or more like he is submerged in the lava. Plunged down into the depths of the fiery ocean where he sinks like a stone underwater, plummeting all the way to the bottom, and then he stops.

He wasn’t dead. In fact, he wasn’t burning at all. It was still quite warm, but more like a temperate hot tub rather than a 950 degree volcano. He kicks up off the bottom, propelling himself upwards. The molten rock had the consistency of a boba. Like swimming through an extremely thick and incredibly hot batch of tapioca pudding, and it very vaguely gives him the impression of what it would be like to dive head first into a pit of marbles while wearing a full body glove.

He breaches the surface, immediately reaching to brush whatever rocky debris he had expected to find intertwined in his hair, but whatever rubble there might have been had merely bounced off the second his head was above lava. Repelled like an oil that merely slides off the surface of water. Nothing could touch him. It really was as if every inch of his body had been coated with an invisible barrier. His skin, his clothes, even each individual strand of hair felt completely invulnerable. He felt like a God. Like not even the Devil himself could touch him. But he knew it wouldn’t last. They might have been called the God apples, but even their effects were only temporary, and he needed to get the heck out of this lava before his fire resistance wore off.

He sets his sights on the closest patch of shore, a small surface of land some several yards away at the base of a netherrack cliff, and he takes off towards it. There was no way up. Not easily, anyway. The cliff face did almost a 90 degree drop, curling over at the top like a little stone awning and leaving a hallow pocket of stone like the remaining cliff face had broken off and descended into the depth of lava lake below, never to be seen again. It wasn’t particularly the most convenient set of terrain for navigation. He may have now had a sword, but without a pick he wouldn’t be able to easily break through the terrain, which meant he was going to have to dig himself up by hand.

Ping!

He had only begun digging a few steps before the sound of his communicator pulls him from his thoughts, only for another ping to sound not 30 seconds later, and he pulls the device from his pocket.

Xisuma has made the advancement [Not Quite “Nine” Lives]

BdoubleO100 was slain by Guardian using magic.

Is Bdubs still at that Ocean Monument?

He must have had some sort of a base set up there. Him and Scar had been in the Nether not long ago, although as was evident by that fact that he was still here, he hadn’t seen either of them.

I wonder if they were looking for people?

However, he doesn’t get to dwell on this particular thought either, because just then another Ping! breaks the silence. And then another. And another.

Xisuma was slain by Cubfan135.

Cubfan135 was slain by Stressmonster101.

Stressmonster101 was slain by Xisuma.

He blinks down at his communicator. They were together. Xisuma, Cub, and Stress had all found each other. And they were here . In the Nether. Together .

Wait a minute…

Xisuma had been bartering. Which meant that they had been making a portal. And if they had just set their spawn, that meant that they had enough crying obsidian for an anchor, which had to suggest they had already been bartering for a while. What if they were almost done? What if they were already there? If they all left, then he would be stuck here by himself. Which is when a thought occurs to him.

Nobody knew he was there.

He hadn’t died yet or received any Nether related achievements. They think they’re the only ones in the Nether. No one would even think to come looking for him here. If Stress, Xisuma, Cub, and now him were all here, that was already 4 people in the Nether, where there had only been 2 in the End. 3 had already been stretching it as it was, there couldn’t possibly be anyone else, and if no one knew to look —

If only he’d have thought to let one of the Magma Cubes kill him when they had first started. He’d had nothing to lose then. But he had things now, and was nowhere near his original spawn. Not that there was anything around at the moment anyway. All of the mobs seemed to have disappeared. Figures, the second he actually wants something to come kill him. Where were the Ghasts when he needed them? The Magma Cubes? The Piglins? But then he realized, they wouldn’t be able to anyway. He still had the resistance effects for another few minutes. But that wasn’t good enough. He needed to find a way of communicating with his friends now.

He sees something move out of the corner of his eye, and his head immediately swivels around towards the source of the movement. And there he sees the only mob in the entire vicinity. A singular Zombified Piglin slowly meandering along the shore. It wasn’t ideal. In fact, it was anything but. But as of right now, it was also his only option, and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to take it. And as he rushes towards the creature, sword held tightly in hand, he has only one thought.

Don’t leave me…

Notes:

Yes I needed an excuse for why Stress did not have the Basion achievement because I definitely 100% forgot that it existed

Chapter 44: iJevin

Notes:

Of all the things I expected to write about in this chapter, the anatomy of a slime was definitely not one of them, but here we are.

I’m prefacing this chapter now that if anyone is going to be out of character it’s probably Jevin. Jevin and also probably Wels in future when I get there. I feel like they have just a SLIGHTLY less distinct way of speaking that’s maybe going to be a bit harder to capture but I will do my best 😅

Have you ever wondered what the human body could withstand? How deep the cut before you bleed? How often struck before you fall? The extent of torture before you’d die? They were meaningless sort of questions to him, he’d found. He was not human, and therefore he did not bleed. Here they were not mortal, and thus they could not truly die. The battle was only lost if one refused to stand, and so until he had accepted defeat, he would never truly fall.

Jevin was not like his other friends. Those who could weep, those who could bleed, those who were frail and were delicate and human . And so it almost seemed a bit of a paradox to place him here. He, who was not human. As if the worst place for him was something only he could ostensibly withstand. He who could not weep, he who could not bleed, and he who would stand until every last bit of life was snuffed from his soul, and until that day was to come to pass, it was he who was absolutely going to refuse to fall.

But this did not mean that he was incapable of feeling pain.

He didn’t process pain in the same way that a human would. He didn’t have nerves or veins or a great many internal organs found within the typical human body, but this did not mean that he didn’t experience it. He preferred to think of humans like a mess of wires, each end leading to a nerve and then back up to the brain. If you tweaked one end, it acted as a signal. Like an electrical current running all the way back to the brain, triggering the reciprocal output which would indicate the pain response corresponding to the specific nerve. But he wasn’t like that. He had described humans like a mess of wires, but he himself was more like it’s power source. Like a formation of solid energy. Each reciprocal was not routed through wires, but rather a single entity. And this energy was not confined to any one space. It spread out all around him like a liquid current, making him feel everything at once. But this was a more complicated process. He could be struck there and still be able to point out its source, but he would still feel it elsewhere. The rest of him would know .

In some ways this made him more resilient. If he was struck over here , a part of him from over there  would immediately come to replace his damaged cells, stretching itself thinner to compensate the lost surface area. It was one of the benefits of his body being more liquid than solid. What took the human body weeks to accomplish his could do immediately. At a cost.

See what others might have perceived as healing was probably more accurately portrayed as simple replacement. If a cell was damaged, it was merely shifted from the foreground, allowing a healthier prospect to take its place. But this did not constitute healing. His cells, like human cells, took time to repair, and by shifting them into the background, this gave them the time needed to properly reconstruct.

But what were to happen if he were to run out of healthy prospects? An elastic could only be stretched so far before it would snap. And so what were to happen if he became so damaged that he had nothing left to replace?

And the answer to that?

He became numb .

Like a bowl of jello that has been poked too many times, he feels like a mush. He might have been a slime by nature, but he had never before felt so much like a physical goop . Like at any moment his form might fail him, collapsing into nothing but a vaguely Jevin-shaped puddle on the floor. It was like being stuck in the worlds most inefficient blender, and he was being made into the vegetable purée.

The dungeon he currently found himself in wasn’t what any technical person would have rightfully called “closed”, but for all intents and purposes, it might as well have been. There were a few chinks in the one wall, but no person his size could have ever hoped to fit through them. They were but a series of holes of one high gaps, the size of which could not ever hope to be breached by a player, at least without assistance. He might have swam out had there been water, or perhaps compressed down to size if he’d maybe had a trapdoor, but he had nothing. As it was, all those tiny cracks stood to accomplish was to taunt him in his misfortune, for through them he could indeed see the barest form of a corridor shaped by the cave on the other side.

A cave that he was currently unable to reach.

Another arrow strikes him and he wobbles. It was getting harder to maintain a balance. The arrows had hurt him initially, but he was at a point where he almost didn’t feel it anymore. He was just numb . Like every cell that had ever been capable of experiencing anything even remotely adjacent to touch had died. Each additional strike no longer hurt, but they made him feel weak , uneven, as if each piercing arrow were laced with a poison, sucking every last drop of energy from him until he was nothing but a hollow shell.

His body had stopped fully regenerating after a while. Even death did not fully reset the cycle. It was like dying while doused in flames - upon respawn you were always still a little bit on fire. His health may have been full by game standards, but his body still remembered those last few seconds, and over time it had taken its toll. He felt like he was using every fibre of his being just to keep himself together, and he worried that if this continued for much longer he may actually fall apart.

He barely even hears the tell tale hiss above the sound of the bones. The rattling and clattering and clanking of bones, hundreds of bones, buried in skeletons so deep he can barely move. But he hears the boom. Such a resounding boom it was. The explosion tears through the entire room, not enough to kill the resident mobs, but it was certainly enough to give them a start. It blasts them back, away from the wall, away from him, and he barely even gets to take a breath before—

What in gODs name is that sOUnD?!

Screaming . Thousands of voices were screaming . So loud he didn’t think he would hear anything else ever again. There were no words. No pleas nor cries nor sounds of distinction. Just a horrific choir of unintelligible wailing . Hundreds of thousands of voices cried out, howling as if they were in pain. Screaming and shrieking and yowling like they were being subjected to the worst sort of torture imaginable.

The sound was deafening. Maddening. Resonating with a force so powerful he thinks he can feel his entire form vibrate at its frequency. It held such torment. Such anguish . With a misery so profound that he can feel it in the depths of his very soul. It makes him feel heavy, a cringing of his very bones. Like his entire body was turning itself inwards, crushed under the burdenous weight of such agonizing torment. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. He thought he would have rather he never heard another sound than to have to listen to such misery for even one moment more. But this thought had no sooner crossed his mind when he is suddenly granted just that. The screaming had stopped just as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving him once more in his near silence.

WHAT was that?

But he doesn’t get to dwell on that particular thought, because in the next moment he is struck with another arrow, the force of which pushes him off balance, and he stumbles back into the dungeon wall behind him.

Only, it’s not there.

Where he had expected to stumble against hard surface, he found none. The wall was gone. Jevin is confused for the span of about 5 seconds, and then he remembers.

The Creeper.

There had been an explosion. The catalyst that had started all of this. It must have spotted him through a chink in the wall and went for him, blowing up the stone in the process. That had been the blast that had resulted in the lack of wall, but that still didn’t explain the screams. Where had the screams come from? Had he simply imagined it? Had he simply been hit so many times that his mind had gone funny?

However, he doesn’t get to dwell on this particularly thought either, because while the creeper may have now provided him with a means of escape, there were still several dozens upon dozens of skeletons swarming the dungeon, pouring from the spawner in droves by the second, and still very  hostile.

He lets them kill him once more, just to regain his health, and then he makes a beeline for the chest. He knew exactly where it was at this point, having stumbled into it enough during his time there. It was mostly junk, really, from what he could tell. Not that he could fully see any of its contents, but from what little groping around inside he had done, there was nothing that might have helped him here. At least at face value. No armour, no weapons, no tools.

But there was a bit of food he could scavenge.

Merely a couple pieces of bread, but that was enough to get him going. Any bit of food was as good as gold in the early game, and in his specific situation, he was going to take anything he could get.

He opens the chest and pockets its contents in one fell swoop and then books it, weaving his way through Skeletons as he ducks around the corner. He needed to get some distance from this spawner and he needed it fast. He might have gained a bit of wiggle room, but the Skeletons were still ranged mobs, and he needed to get beyond their firing distance before he took too much damage.

He feels something strike him in the back of the head just as he pulls out his communicator, using its screen to light his way; no doubt another arrow hitting its mark as he makes his way down the darkened corridor. It hits him in just the right spot to make his skull shake, his head fuzzy, rattling his brain within its skeletal exterior with enough force that makes his eyes see stars.

Which is when he sees them.

Stars.

There were actual stars.

He was hallucinating. That had to be the only explanation. And it had to be the only explanation because it was otherwise impossible. He was nowhere near the surface, not even remotely, and yet there they were. What looked like hundreds of thousands of stars blinking down at him in the interim.

But something was wrong. Indeed, even from within his confines of near darkness he could tell that there was something very very wrong with them. They looked sick; if an indiscriminate ball of light could ever graft the physical appearance of illness unto itself. Each star blinked down at him, less in the manner of their stereotypical twinkling, but more as if they themselves were actually phasing out of existence. Like hundreds of pulsars of neutron stars, the collapsed core of remains the only thing left in the wake of its death. It was the eventual fate of most massive stars, at least to all those who’s resulting supernova was not to end in a black hole. Massive stars were supposed to be among the rarest of them all, making up less than 1% of all the stars in the universe, and not even a full quarter of a percentage of those were said to become pulsars. But of more concern, he finds that these are the ones that appear to greet him now. A sky full of pulsars, an endless graveyard that stretches across an infinite sky composed entirely of fallen stars - they were all dead.

He stumbles around a corner and then they’re everywhere, completely surrounding him on all sides. He is literally running on stars as he fumbles his way forward. He stares down into what looked like a starry void. He can feel his feet strike the floor with each step, but there was nothing there. The effect is enough to make his stomach drop, or it would have if he’d had one. As it is he could feel the dizziness clouding his vision, like looking down from atop a high building, making his already unsure footing even more so. And if he thought that was strange, what happened next had to throw him completely for a loop.

The room had flipped. He was still walking on void, but above him was now a ceiling of slate. It was like the rooms gravity had been completely flipped on it’s head. Like he was walking on sky instead of ground. What should have been floor was now ceiling, and what should have been ceiling was now floor. And as he stumbles further in, the room flips again. And again. Righting itself and turning itself, speckling stars amongst slate like it couldn’t decide what was up or down. It spirals around like a darkened carnival ride, drawing him closer, closer, each star flickering erratically as if crying out a warning. Turn back. Turn back. Don’t come this way.

He would learn all too late what that warning meant.

He sees an arrow fly past his head, and another and another. He had expected them to vanish when they hit the void, but they don’t. Instead they hung suspended mid air as if they really had hit some kind of invisible barrier, but even they too flicker before his eyes, just like the stars. Like even the tangible world was phasing from existence. But his gaze lingers too long. His foot strikes something in its invisible path and he stumbles forward, falling down over void of nothing but stars. This was how he joins them, he thinks. In a sky of fallen stars, the once mightiest of celestial bodies now demised, this was how he became one with the death of the universe.

He hits the ground with a heavy Fwump . He had stopped right where his feet had been, landing face down on the floor and staring into oblivion. He reaches out a hand instinctively to push himself up and it too meets the resistance of the floor. He could touch it, he realized. What he had thought was merely space was in fact solid surface. It was surprisingly soft. Spongy almost. Like squeezing the head of a mushroom cap with a bit more stability.

Which is when the realization strikes him. 

Those weren’t stars he was staring at.

They were spores .

He immediately scrambles forward, pulling himself up and stumbling over his feet. He glances backwards to see the mob of skeletons encroaching, their skeletal faces phasing in and out of darkness hauntingly like a ghostly spectre. In fact, the entire corridor seemed to be flashing, flickering in and out of reality, and he shakes his head. Blinks his eyes. Anything that might clear his vision as if the fog was merely in his mind, but it stays. And it grows. It engulfs everything until the world is shrouded in darkness, pulsing like it was alive. As if the very air around him was breathing , the darkness rising and falling like a set of lungs taking in a breath of air.

Images flicker before his eyes, the dark playing tricks on his mind. Ghostly apparitions chase him through a sky of fallen stars. They were hunting him. Chasing him down like a pack of wolves, and he was but the insignificant rabbit soon to be prey. Flickering arrows descend upon him, but he can do nothing to escape. Trapped between walls of stone like a caged animal. An arrow strikes him down and in a flash he can see the stars, picture himself among them. And then they are no longer stars. They are souls . Thousands of souls crying out at once. Turn back! Turn back! Don’t come this way!

“I can’t—!” He starts, plowing into a wall, immediately pushing himself off and stumbling across it. The flashing continues and the darkness engulfs him, and he once again pictures himself as one amongst the dead stars, the dead souls . “I can’t see! ”

He rounds another corner, winding deeper into the darkness. They’re not stars, they’re not stars! He reminds himself. Spores! Spores! They’re spores! He runs and he runs. Faster and faster. Deeper and deeper he goes until he thinks he could run no more, and then—

WHAM!!

He plows into something head on, crashing into it at full force and he staggers, slumping against it as he falls, and it falls with him. And for a moment he forgets his previous mantra. Because in that particular moment, he could have sworn that he had just crashed into an actual star. Because it was burning . Whatever he had struck felt like it was radiating with the heat of a thousands suns, and when he opens his eyes, he is then met with the second biggest shock of his day.

“Zedaph?!”

“Jevin?!”

“This way!”

“No,  this way!”

“ Skeletons! ”

“ WARDEN! ”

He watches as Zedaph claps a hand over his mouth in horror and what he’d just done, and the pair each glance behind, taking in the respective mobs fast approaching from each tunnel before glancing towards a third ostensively clear path that branches off between the two. They look at the tunnel, then at each other, before replying in tandem.

“ That way!”

And the pair stagger off into the Deep Dark.

Chapter 45: Zedaph

Notes:

This is a trigger warning for depictions of death and implied deaths of animals and children, but nothing explicit.

This is also another trigger warning for people who are squeamish about vomit.

—

This chapter is a bEAST. Buckle up folks we’re in for a long boi. The amount of times I was like “ya know, maybe I should split this into separate chapters” and then was just like “nah”. Do I get to be forgiven for taking so long to update if the chapter’s also 4 times as long???

He doesn’t scream. Although he well wants to. He can feel his entire body vibrate with a fear so intense that even his blood had appeared to run cold. Like every fibre and cell within him had stopped, frozen. Quivering and shaking as if even they could sense the unbridled terror that now replaced the blood through his veins, and yet still, he does not scream.

And he doesn’t move. Not even a muscle. He doesn’t twitch nor blink nor dare even allow himself to breathe. Because it’s right there. Close enough that he can feel the creatures sickly breath on his cheeks. Like even a stray breeze might sway him close enough to touch, and then he would be done for.

He had previously described his situation as one of a face to face encounter, but in reality, that wasn’t exactly true. He wished he could have described it as such. He would have much rather have stared into that eyeless visage, facing down its drooping jaw of blackened teeth that leaked a sickly ooze like a liquid tar. Like an inky saliva that could not be contained within the confines of its mouth, seeping through each jagged crack of its teeth and dribbling down its chin in giant globs of black like a clotted blood. He wished he could have said that this was what he saw. But in reality?

It was so much worse.

He stands there; paralyzed, dwarfed within the parameters of its large stature. The Warden was more than double his size and nearly twice as tall, with long swooping arms the width of trees and giant feet of skeletal claws that looked capable of reducing cinder blocks to powder. Just a single appendage was nearly as big as he was and looked as dense as a block of solid iron, like even the tiniest smack would send him sprawling across the room, snapping his spine with the effortless ease of one half-heartedly swatting at a fly.

He really didn’t want to see what it could do if it actually tried.

It’s size alone was more than a mere subject of intimidation, but it was what that size accomplished now. Indeed what currently placed him at the perfect angle to witness in that very moment, was what struck fear into the hearts of men. Their rather astute size difference meant that he wasn’t tall enough to reach its face, and so instead here he stood, staring dead into the creatures chest, and absolutely horrified at what he saw there.

It’s giant ribs protrude right out of its chest like an internal claw, taking up most of its torso and nearly all of its abdomen in the process. It stretches the skin apart, tearing away at what little remained of its black and rotted flesh as if something was ripping it apart from the inside. And in the place of its stomach, in the place of its heart , in the place of anything that might have even remotely have been seen as even vaguely adjacent to human, there was something else entirely that was of a like of which that he had never seen before.

Nestled in the pit of its stomach, framed within the claw-like bones of its ribcage, was a looking glass, dark and murky like the depths of a deep lake, it’s glassy surface clouded from within by a bright blue mist like smoke underwater. And as he watches on, the smoke begins to materialize, glowing brightly as it bunches together as if fighting to create a coherent form, before erupting in a flash of blue.

And he almost jumps right out of his skin. Because there within the depths of black, was now the ghostly spectre of a giant wolf, its curled lips pulled back in a ravenous snarl that bared every single one of its pointed fangs, a positively murderous look in its eyes. It rams against the inside of the glass, all gnashing teeth and hackles raised, growling furiously as it charges towards him. But as it rears up again, just before it can strike the glass a second time, it’s ghostly form suddenly dissipates, breaking off into wispy tendrils like a smoke suddenly struck by a strong breeze, and then it is gone. And when it reforms again, a new image appears.

A singular cod swims into view, slowly and solemn. It meanders about in a delicate dance, leaving tendrils of smoke like blue ribbons of mist spiralling out and around with each majestic flap of its tail. And then it is engulfed by the smoke, like a storm cloud passing over his view. It tries to swim away, but the smoke is too fast. The entire glass becomes a fog, obscuring anything and everything within its confines, and in a single blinding flash, it too disappears into tendrils of mist.

Two hooded figures take its place, one larger, one smaller. They had their backs to him, but though he could not see their faces, they stumbled about on a pair of legs that could not have been anything other than human. They were running. Away from the glass, away from him . And as they run, he sees the larger one turn, reaching a slender hand towards the other and grasping at a wrist that seemed so much smaller by comparison. And as he watches on, he sees the smaller one falter, tripping over its own two feet that were proportionally tiny in disparity, and the larger leaps forward, enveloping the smaller figure in its arms like a giant human shell, and then in a single swipe, they both were gone.

The next image manifests as a singular dot of light, barely more than a speck in the distance, like a singular star trapped in an inky void. But as he watches on, it begins to grow. Bigger and bigger until it too has materialized into a wispy mass of fur. At first he didn’t know what it was, but as he stares, the creature turns, and what little breath that remained in his lungs seizes violently in his throat in a silent gasp.

It was a creeper , he realizes. He hadn’t even recognized it without its signature green coat, but those hollow eyes were unmistakable. He watches it turn, raising itself up on four giant paws before looking right at him, calking it’s head as if merely curious. And as the image grows larger still, he sees its expression change. The corners of its mouth suddenly droop downward, its eyes small, the creature sinking back onto its hind legs as if it was about to pounce, but it doesn’t. He thought it might be trying to explode, but another look at its face said otherwise. It’s fur wasn’t puffed as if reared for battle. In fact, it almost appeared to be trying to make itself smaller. Which is when he realizes. It’s cowering . The creeper was cowering . And then in a puff of white, it too was gone.

Another image takes its place, and then a new one takes that. On and on it continues. Animals and creatures and humans alike cycle before his eyes, and all the while he stands there, watching in an abject horror. A rather apt description, he thought, for there was always another horror to replace the last. And he knows what they are. Knows what they mean. And he does nothing. Simply stands there and waits to join them. For what could he possibly do against a monster such as this? Against the monster of monsters, for it did not discriminate. Against that which had destroyed far greater than he, which had slaughtered for less, although they’d had more. And so what good was he, skin and bone that he was? And with nothing else left, he merely waits for the inevitable, standing his ground and he closes his eyes.

Only, it doesn’t kill him.

He waits for several long moments, but he doesn’t die. Puzzled, he cracks an eye open, staring up at the monster. It wasn’t even looking at him, although that could in fact be taken liberally, for the creature had no eyes. But its face was tilted upwards, away from him, angled towards the ceiling as if it somehow knew that something was up there. And sure enough, as he watches on, he sees it’s spiked horns begin to twitch, glowing a brilliant blue before letting out a single, solitary shake, and from the top spews a wispy wave of light, shooting right out of the top of its horns and straight through the rock of the ceiling. And that was when it does something absolutely incredible.

It walks away.

It turns on its heel and leaves, without so much as giving him a single glance.

He couldn’t believe his luck. He had thought he was a goner for sure, but then there was the creature. Leaving. For all his fears, it hadn’t touched him, and he inwardly breaths a sigh of relief.

He had just turned to follow its example when he is struck with a sudden thought.

It hadn’t come after him. Why hadn’t it come after him? He had been right there . Close enough that the smallest shift would have brought him close enough to touch, and yet it hadn’t come after him. Surely it had to be able to at least smell him from there. But no, it hadn’t touched him. Hadn’t even so much as turned it’s head in his direction, the creature seemingly thoroughly occupied by whatever it was hunting above, which arose a different question entirely.

He didn’t know a lot about the Warden - he’d never had the opportunity to properly study the creature, but he’d read a lot about it. He might not have had any real field experience, but he was pretty sure that the Wardens were said to prioritize the player over mobs, regardless if aggression levels were exceeded otherwise. And unless it truly had not sensed him at all, that should have suggested himself as the primary target, regardless if any wayward mobs had accidentally set off a shrieker by mistake. But that is not what had happened. The Warden had ignored him, like it was more aggravated by another source, which should have been impossible unless—

He looks back towards the creature.

Unless it’s after another player.

It was a bad idea. In fact, it was worse. Because it was a horrifically bad idea. But just then, even just for a moment he’d thought, maybe there was someone else up there. And after so long of wandering alone in the dark, that thought alone is enough to convince him, where common sense might have said otherwise. And with only a minor second of hesitation, he swallows his doubts and follows after the Warden.

He keeps a good 10 feet back, crouching his way along and doing his best to stick to the wall as much as possible. Not that the Warden could see him really, or really as if this provided any sort of shelter at all, but that subtle illusion of cover made him feel just that slightest bit safer, and in a scenario where his panic might very well give him away, he was going to take what little comfort he could get.

He follows it up several feet, praying against all odds that it won’t notice him as he watches it hunt. But this had been his downfall. He is so busy watching the Warden that he had forgotten to check his surroundings.

It had only been a simple miss step. Just the briefest tap of his shoe as it scuffs the ground, and had he been anywhere else he might have been fine. Had he been further away it might not have triggered, but he’s not, and he watches in horror as the sensor goes off, giving off that same blue wave he had seen before, and he is helpless to do anything but watch as it comes right for him.

The creature halts the second the wave hits him, immediately swivelling in its tracks as it redirects onto its new target, and Zedaph makes a last second leap, propelling himself forward, away from the wall, and then suddenly their positions are reversed. He has just enough time to think that maybe he hadn’t thought this plan through when whatever is above him moves again, once more catching the attention of the beast, only this time he is stood directly in its path.

Crap.

Heart pounding, he turns again, feeling his way blindly up the wall as he continues to navigate further into the tunnel. It was so dark . He couldn’t see. He wanted to run but the monster would hear and he can’t see and he has just managed to steer himself around a corner when—

WHAM!!

Something plows into him with the force of a freight train, knocking him heels over ass as he crashes to the ground. At first he thought it’s caught up to him. For but a moment he thinks it’s struck.

Until he hears the voice.

“Zedaph?!”

He opens his eyes, blinking up at the man before him. “Jevin?!”

“This way!”

“No,  this way!”

“ Skeletons! ”

“ WARDEN! ”

He glances behind at the Warden, then back towards the Skeletons. They were trapped. To go either way would be certain death, and he looks around wildly for any other means of escape.

His gaze finds the tunnel at the same time as Jevin, an ostensibly clear path that branches off to the side, and as he glances at his companion, he can tell they are both thinking the same thing.

“ That way!”

They rush towards the tunnel, praying against all odds that it will lead them to safety- A hope that proves futile on several accounts.

They hadn’t made it far before they are cut off abruptly by another pack of skeletons. A rouge hoard of them that must have branched off along another line further up and now stood directly in their path, their ghostly faces fading in hauntingly from out of the darkness.

They stop abruptly, immediately swivelling back around as if to go back from where they had come, only to stop short once again. There was nothing there, at least that they could see. But that sound . A deep THUNK as if something was being repeatedly slammed against the wall, each echoing thud followed closely by a loud and sickening crunch that swiftly morphed into a crash. Like a million shattering bones being crushed simultaneously, their tiny minuscule shatterings of shards all scattering about the floor in a reckless mess of debris that left little to the imagination, and they didn’t need to see to know what was happening back there.

They swiftly turn once more, reluctantly running back down the tunnel they had just turned to leave. Zedaph had never been much of a fighter, but he would have much rather have tried his luck with the Skeletons than the Warden, and with only minor regrets about his prior decisions in mind, he turns to run straight into the hoard of Skeletons that now blocked their path.

“I need a sword!” Jevin exclaims, the man immediately throwing himself at the encroaching mobs, fending them back with his fists.

“I need— literally anything!” He sputters, looking around wildly as he does just the opposite, dodging and weaving and generally doing his best to just avoid them altogether, until there is suddenly one right in his face, pushed right up against him and he jolts.

“Oh my god it’s on me!” He swiftly pushes the creature away from him, knocking it over in his haste to escape before kicking at the pile of bones now at his feet. “Oh god why…” He continues, extracting his foot from its ribcage before bringing it back down once more with a sickening crunch, and he winces. “ Oh gross! This is so weird! Why Skeletons?! Why. Why? Why?!”

Jevin ducks beneath a flying arrow before springing back up, hitting another Skeleton beneath its chin with a swift uppercut. “They’re just Skeletons!” He shouts over the sound of the clatter, clocking it in the side of its head with a perfectly landed right hook. “They’re just bones!” He reaches forward, taking the creature by the spine and promptly throwing it across the room. “I mean, would you run from Calista Flockhart?!”

“I’m a scientist not an archeologist Jevin, Skeletons are supposed to stay on the inside of a body! ” Zedaph gives a final kick towards his own Skeleton and it erupts in a flash of smoke, leaving nothing but a singular wooden bow at his feet and he grabs it.

The sound of a terrifying roar interrupts them then, shaking the very foundations of stone around them and he grips his bow tightly in his hand.

“This way!” Jevin yells from across the room and Zedaph turns to see him flagging him down, the man standing over an opening that emitted just the faintest of a blue light that was at first confusing.

Until he gets a better look.

“Oh you have got to be joking.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“I think death would be preferable actually.”

“Just come on! ”

Jevin takes hold of his arm and tugs, pulling him along as he drags him down towards the city and he groans. Good lot of choice they had now.

Jevin drags him along, pulling him up to the base of an old crumbling hallway before he stops. The stone walls were cracked and eroded with age in parts, in others completely demolished. What once might have been windows lined the exterior wall, barren of glass and with holes that drooped to the floor. There’s a row of lanterns attached to a crumbling arch above them there, faded and blue and flickering amongst the dark, and he watches as Jevin approaches one; a particularly crumbling bit of pillar on which it was attached, and without even a moments hesitation, the man reaches forward and strikes the stone on which it is hung.

“ What are you doing?! ” He exclaims, exasperated. Jevin strikes the bit of rock again.

“Getting us some light!” The man replies, merely raising a fist once more.

“Now?!”

“Well we’re not gonna get very far if we can’t see! ” He gives it everything he has, throwing his entire weight at the crumbling chunk of wall and the lantern finally breaks free, clattering to the ground and hitting the stone floor with a metallic clang, and it is in this moment when the Warden roars again, still distant and yet somehow more threatening, and the two quickly look back towards the opening from which they had just come.

And there it stands. From out of the darkness it looms, throwing several Skeletons from the hole that shatter instantly upon impact, and then it turns to them.

Once again, he does not move. He clamps his mouth shut and holds his breath, staring wide-eyed as the beast slowly encroaches on them, and once again the sound of a beating heart pounds against his eardrums.

He sees Jevin move out of the corner of his eye, the man silently flailing as if trying to get his attention, and he throws him a glance, turning his head just enough so that both he and the Warden are now within his peripheral. They lock eyes from across the room, illuminated rather poorly within the muted blue of his lantern, and Jevin cups his hands to his mouth, as if miming a shout, before silently tapping his ear. Zedaph nods.

His eyes flick back towards the Warden, watching it closely as he very carefully side steps his way towards Jevin. And once he is within range, it is Jevin who comes to him, the man taking the utmost of care as he sidles up behind him, placing a steadying hand on his forearm as he leans in close. And then he speaks; just the barest whisper of a voice, presenting as little more than a mere puff of air against his cheek in a tone so soft that even he had to strain to hear.

“ I’ve got a plan. Keep it off me? ”

Zedaph says nothing, but nods, never once taking his eyes from the beast before them, and from somewhere behind, he feels Jevin shift his hand to his shoulder - a reassurance, but also a caution. Jevin takes a breath.

“ I’ll be right back. ”

Wait… back????

Only then does he pry his eyes from the monster, whirling around quickly as if to demand what the hell he meant by that, but Jevin is already gone, the man disappearing somewhere into the darkness, and then he is alone. Left to his own devices as he once again finds himself alone with the beast, and he turns back around, reluctantly setting his sights back on the Warden, and he groans internally.

Brilliant…

Jevin is gone for many long minutes. Several excruciating moments that seem to last him a lifetime. The Warden fades in and out of his vision, disappearing with each inhale of darkness and reappearing once more on the exhale. He can hear the slow snuffling of its nose as it sniffs him out, can feel the resounding pound of his heart against his ribs like the throb of a bass drum, it’s beat much comparable with the incessant wail of a timpani.

He hadn’t been particularly concerned when he’d faced it before. Scared , yes. But not concerned. There was a certain fear that arose when one was presented with death. Something inside of you that could not help but be afraid. A biological instinct, really. Death was the greatest shock that one’s body would ever have to endure. The heart would stop, organs shut down, muscles and neurons and nerves ceased their function. It was the greatest disruption the human body could face, and so, intrinsically, it made sense for it to have such an innate fear response.

Things were a little different here.

And what was this thing that set them apart?

Oblivion.

The brain possessed the ultimate fear of oblivion . It is not the pain that gets to us. It is not the shock or the hurt nor the exhaustion that provokes such a strong response. It is the simple fact that in the shadow of death, we will simply cease to be . It is the fear of nothing. Not of pain nor of suffering, but just nothing . You will never speak another word, never think another thought, every memory that exists within you is just gone. And it’s not about having an impact. It’s not about being remembered. Every thought within you might be a useless string of nonsense completely unsusceptible to all forms of deciphering, but it is still nice that they exist . It is a comforting sort of thought to know that you exist. Not even that you matter, but simply that you are.

Death robs you of more than life, in that sense. It robs you of your sense of self. Your thoughts, your feelings, any notion of choice. If death is inevitable, were we ever truly free? After all, a cage is still a cage, no matter it’s size. We are but a cow in a pasture, grazing on grass and frolicking through fields, and all the while the smokehouse sits, waiting just round the bend with a sinister air that served as stark reminder - Life is nothing more than an illusion of choice.

But they didn’t have that here.

For here, death was not permanent. It was painful and hard and a terrible inconvenience , but it was not permanent. And it was for this reason that they did not fear oblivion. Here their brains had learned what their bodies could not. They could not negate the shock of death, no matter how many times one would experience it, but over time they had lost their fear of the null. Death was treated more as an agonizing blip upon their time frames. Like an unexpectedly inconvenient accident that makes you late for work in the morning - a bit painful to sit through perhaps, but otherwise void of all real sense of consequence for the average passerby, provided of course that you did not need to be on time that day.

They were relatively materialistic in that sense. Death was of no consequence provided that one had nothing to lose. He’d been scared before, but in the end he’d had nothing, and so why would he be concerned? What would his death have been worth then but distance?

But he had something now.

A rather significant something, in fact, one that possessed a value far greater than any materialistic means he could come by. Above diamonds or gold. Emeralds or Netherite. Indeed, Zedaph was currently in the possession of something far rarer. Something both much harder to find and infinitely more valuable.

As to where the man had currently skulked off to , he couldn’t say.

Come on, Jev. Where are you?

He watches as the Warden suddenly halts in its movements, the beast stopping in its tracks as it turns to sniff at the air more thoroughly. Zedaph freezes. It’s caught something.

He holds his breath as the beast encroaches, his heart hammering against his ribs as a single bead of sweat slides down the back of his neck. And then the beast stops, raising its head abruptly, and Zedaph can feel every bone in his body cringe inwardly at the movement. It was looking right at him , and as the existential dread settles deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows what that action means.

It’s found him.

He moves now, ever so slightly. Never once taking his eyes off of the Warden as he very carefully creeps himself backwards. It wasn’t running yet, which he was going to take as a good sign. It hadn’t locked on completely, but it knows that he’s here.

Jevin, hurry up .

He had no sooner thought this phrase when he is given almost an immediate response. A series of insufferable screams cuts through the air, a sound like a thousand wailing banshees in the dark, ringing out loud and pronounced as they echo off the stone walls of the structure. The creature hesitates before him, instead turning its head just slightly as it looks at an unknown spot behind his head.

It had to be Jevin. There were no mobs that could spawn down here, and the sound was much too far away for it to have been created of his own accord. Jevin must have tripped a shrieker, he realizes. A mistake that could prove detrimental to his plan, whatever it was.

The Warden hesitates, unsure. It looks back and forth between him and the location of the sound. It could smell him. He knew it could. But the shrieker had alerted it to other danger, and he could see the cogs churn within its brain, the monster obviously torn as it tries to decide which one of them posed the bigger threat.

But he had a job to do. For the duration of this plan, whatever it may be, Jevin had given him a single task. Keep it off him. And if the Warden was currently torn, he was just going to have to give it an incentive to make up its mind.

Without another thought, he slides his foot forward and taps it once. Just once, for that was all he needed. A single tap against the floor that was swift but firm, with a sound that lasts for little more than a second, and yet one that accomplishes exactly what it needs to. The Warden turns back towards him, it’s decision made, and it encroaches once more.

There was something hypnotic about the way that it moved. Something almost graceful had he currently been faced with another circumstance - one in which he was not about to die a very painful death. Its undulating movements vaguely reminded him of a horse running through a field, it’s giant neck bobbling along as it propels itself forward, but with the grace of a serpent, slithering through soft blades, meandering along with a gentle ease like an unperturbed mind, and this was its morning stroll.

It was almost like floating, but not. Like it was meant for water, but was stuck on land. Like it had come up from the depths and had made its home here, or else the very Ocean had dried up and it was too stubborn to leave. It swayed with the poise of an orca, and yet hunted with the instincts of a shark.

It was a disturbing sort of sight to witness, he’d found. The way it’s spine would shift as if it had been taken out, held aloft like a wet rag and flopped above his head like a rag doll. It didn’t feel natural for a skeleton to be able to move like that. As if it’s spine had been replaced with a snake and the serpent had simply taken over its functions. It almost appeared overly top-heavy for its size. Like it’s back could not support the weight of its torso. And in lieu of one’s muscle mass, it was instead held together with a series of calcified bones, like an overgrown tree that’s ensnared a rock in its roots, entrapping the article until it’s become one with the source.

The sight was horrific. Demonic. Like a demon sent up from the depths of Hell, barely contained within the confines of its host. Perhaps it was to take him back there. Perhaps it’s true purpose was as carrier of souls, and all its past victims were to be taken deep into the depths of the underworld. Like a wayward ferryman Charon, escorting those across the Rivers Five towards Judgement. But no. This here was no Charon. He need not have been taken to judgement, for it had already passed. The fates had spoken, and this was his. This here was no Charon. This was a Cerberus .

He takes another step in his retreat when he suddenly halts in his tracks. His back had hit something hard. Something cold and hard and decidedly solid, and he realizes that he’s backed himself into a wall. The creature’s faded from his view again, the darkness once again taking over his vision, and he moves a little further down the wall, groping his way along in what he hopes is a good direction. He can’t see it. He can’t see anything . He knows it’s there, he just can’t tell where .

And then he hears the sound.

A sound like a rapid fall feet against the stone, and his heart begins to race, pumping out the beat of Savage Gardens ‘I Want You’ against his ribs. It’s locked on. It has to have. He still can’t see the monster, but he knows it has to be chasing him. Can picture it running towards him at full speed, and he knows he’s a goner. There’s no way he outruns it, and any moment now he would be struck with a force so hard he would be dead before he’s even had time to register what’s happened. And then there, from out of the darkness, he sees it. For less than half a second the beast crosses his sight line, and then—

“Time to go! ”

And then he is moving . A hand closes around his wrist and he is pulled forward, half dragged across the floor in the few seconds it takes for his brain to catch up, and he blinks up at the form of Jevin with a sort of blind daze. They were running . Moving at a full on sprint that creates far more noise than their parameters allowed, and he quickly tugs on Jevins arm, hissing at the man under his breath in whatever feeble attempt he had to get him to slow down.

“Stop running! You’re gonna make it mad!”

“Good! Make it mad!”

“What?”

“ Make it mad! ”

ROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAARR

His stomach drops at the sound of its roar, his grip slackening around Jevins arm as the existential dread settles into his bones, and Jevin grips him more tightly, tugging with a more pointed force than before.

“Time to go?! ” The man shouts again. And this time, Zed couldn’t help but agree.

“Yep, time to go!”

He clings to him now, gripping at the sleeve of Jevins sweater with a claw-like grasp as if afraid he might slip away into the darkness. It was mad . It had found them and it was mad and now it had locked on, and he clings to Jevin like a lifeline, whatever plan the man had concocted now their only hope of survival.

“This way!”

He follows diligently as Jevin leads them forward, ducking inside a broken window of one of the crumbling structures, and then they are forced to stop. The hallway was completely blocked off. Enclosed on all sides with bits of a dark wool that looked like someone had ripped up the carpeted floors and stuffed it in the walls. Draped from floor to ceiling like curtains and shoved into cracks like a moulding. He turns back around. The Warden was right there. Banging on the outer walls as it tries to get to them. They were completely encased on all sides, save two tiny gaps on each end. One in front and one behind, each big enough to fit a single person and nothing else.

For but a moment he breathes a sigh of relief. He thought that this was their means of escape. That Jevin had created a passage through which it could never hope to follow. But he was wrong. Because what happens next is a possibility he did not even consider. An event which, quite frankly, takes him completely by surprise.

“Hey! Warden! Over here!” The man calls. But Jevin wasn’t looking at the Warden. In fact, he wasn’t facing even remotely in the right direction. Instead, he stood there with his back turned, peaking out ever so slightly from beneath the confines of the bridge as he calls into the darkness. In the opposite direction.

For a moment, he is confused. For but a moment he believes the man disoriented. 

Until he sees it.

From out of the darkness looms the shadow of a figure. Dark and menacing and absolutely enormous, and in the single moment it takes to step fully into view, Zed feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

Tell me that’s not…

But it is. And there was no mistaking it, no matter how much he might wish to deny.

There was another one.

The realization hits him with the full force of a bus, Jevin scampering back into the relative safety of their hidy hole, and it is in this particular moment when he can no longer contain himself. The words burst from his mouth in a rupturing cascade of perplexity, exploding from within like they could no longer be contained and carrying with them all the force of the pent up things he had not previously been allowed to say.

“This was your plan?!”

“Pretty much!”

“Have you completely lost your mind?!”

“Probably!”

“Do you even have any idea what you’re doing right now?!”

“Not even in the slightest! Hold these for me.”

Several arrows are shoved unceremoniously into his arms, followed by a large heaping of wool, and he blinks down at the objects now in his possession.

“ …What am I supposed to do with these?! ”

In lieu of a response, Jevin grips at his shoulders, shaking him as if drawing him from a trance. The Warden growls.

“When I say down, you hit the floor, alright?!”

Zedaph blinks. “…What?!”

“ Listen! ” Jevin shakes him again. “When you get out you’re gonna have to go up at least 21 meters, you understand?!”

“When I get—?!”

“ 21 meters!” He yells. “ Fast as you can, it’s very important!”

“Ok, but—“

“You’re gonna wait about 30 seconds.” The man continues. “30 seconds at least , and do NOT come down even a single second before that. And do not set foot back on the floor!”

“What are you—“

“Get ready for it!”

“ Jevi—! ”

“DOWN!!”

Jevin yanks on his arms and he hits the floor with a thud. And half a second later something flies over his head. Something that lights up the space like an explosion of light and resonates with the force of a shotgun. The sound is loud , prominent, with a force enough that shakes his entire body, and he covers his head with his hands, as if this will somehow shield him from whatever damage he had expected to obtain, and his ears ring loudly inside of his skull.

But he doesn’t stay there long. Because in the next moment there is a hand at his neck, pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt, and then he is shoved rather unceremoniously from beneath the confines of the bridge. Thrown from their shelter out into the open, and he barely manages to retain some semblance of footing before Jevin’s voice is back, yelling at him from behind, and he is brought swiftly back to reality.

“Now CLIMB!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He runs forward only a couple of feet before pillaring up, using the packed scrapings of wool that Jevin had bequeathed upon him as scaffolding, and he climbs. Higher and higher he goes, up a full 21 meters from the ground, just as Jevin had instructed, and then he stops.

And then he waits.

5 seconds. 10 seconds. 20 seconds. 30–

And then the screaming starts. Different than before. Still torturous, and yet somehow different. The screams before had been almost a chorus, like a cacophony of layered voices wailing into the night, whereas this was more of a glorified hiss. Something akin to a screech and a roar, but with an underlying thunk, like the crack of an axe as it fells a massive tree, the once glorious structure hitting the ground with an underlying boom that shakes the very foundations of the earth.

He expected the worst. When he comes back down, he had expected his communicator to let out its chiming ping, and then he would find the remains of Jevin splattered against the walls, the floor, the man reduced to nothing more than a spattering of slime against the walls, because what else could that horrible thunk mean? But once again, that is not what he finds. Once again, the sight that greets him is one that shocks him to his very core, and as he looks down from his perch, both Wardens in view, he can do nothing but gape at the sight before him.

They were fighting each other.

“ Zed! ” Jevins voice rings out amongst the chaos, although he cannot see him. A loud and piercing sound that hits his ear like the resounding boom of a firecracker, cutting through the air with all the sharpness of a blade. “You need to kill it!”

Had Zed currently been able to see his friend, he would have looked at him like he was insane.

“ What do you mean, kill it?! It’s got about a bajillion hearts!!”

“Trust me! It’s gonna be low! Whichever one survives is gonna be like 3 arrows max!”

“So you kill it! Why do I gotta be the one to hit it?!”

“Because you’re the one with the bow!” Jevin reasons. “Just trust me, you’ll be fine!”

“Says the one who brought me a second Warden!” He shoots back.

“I promise, I promise you’ve got this, you just need to get the jump on it before one of them dies, just please please trust me on this, please! ”

Zedaph sighs. What choice did he have? One of them was going to die, but then they’d be right back in the same position they started, only now it was going to be aggravated. He groans, but begrudgingly reaches for his bow, slipping an arrow in the nock and lightly pulling on the string. After all, what choice did he have now? He takes a deep breath. “Jevin, I swear to god, if I die I am going to haunt you so  hard.”

He takes a tentative aim towards the beasts, as best he could see in the darkness, and he waits. He needed to make this shot. The first one would be the easy one, after all, but he needed to get the jump on it before it did him. Every shot was going to count, and he needed the first out of the way as soon as possible.

20 seconds later, it happens. There is a single, drawn out cry, and then one of them falls, crashing to the ground with one final echoing boom, and he lets the arrow loose, flying straight and true towards the final remaining beast, and he knows it’s struck home when the creature lets out another roaring hiss of a cry.

He reloads again in the time it takes for the Warden to turn on him, the creature roaring loudly as it runs towards his pillar, and he lets the second arrow fly just as it reaches the base, it too hitting its mark without a hitch.

He was convinced he’d had it then. By the time he had nocked his third arrow, he was convinced they had won.

He had been wrong.

He lets the final arrow fly, straight towards its target, where it lands just like the others, lodging itself right between the horns on the top of its head.

Only, it doesn’t die.

The creature merely shakes it off, as if swatting a fly, before roaring up at him, decidedly not dead, although increasingly more pissed off than it had been prior. Zedaph falters.

“ …You said 3 arrows! ”

“I may have miscalculated slightly!”

“ Jevin!! ”

The creature emits another growl and Zed can feel the panic as it sets in, his palms sweaty as his heart stars to pound again.

“Oh god…”

And he retreats. He slings the bow over his shoulder and he climbs, up and up until he hopes he has once again reached his original tower height, and he looks back over the edge.

It was pitch black. His vision clouded completely by a darkness that not even Jevin’s lantern could pierce, and he can’t see anything. He might as well have been staring into the void for all he could see, and with this thought in mind, he comes to a sudden realization.

“Jevin! I can’t see it!” He calls. “I can’t aim! ”

“Toss me your bow!” Comes Jevin’s voice from somewhere in the darkness. “Quick!”

He looks around wildly for the man, but still there is nothing but black. “Where are you?! I can’t see! ”

“Just toss it down! I’ll find it!”

Zedaph does as the man had instructed, throwing the bow from the pillar and letting the weapon clatter to the floor.

And then there is silence. For several long moments there is a silence so loud it was deafening, and he tries even harder to squint through the darkness as he attempts to make out what is happening below.

“What’s it doing?” He asks after a moment. There is no response. Only more silence. “…Jev?”

“…JUMP!”

“What?”

“ZED YOU HAVE TO JUMP RIGHT NOW!!”

“What do you—“

And then it strikes.

He doesn’t even have time to register what was about to happen, because in the next moment there is a blinding flash of light, followed closely by a piercing shriek like a banshee wail, and then everything fades to black.

—

He thinks he can hear someone screaming. A far away shout that might sound like his name, like a voice he might recognize if he were to be thinking clearly. Some part of him thinks he should know it. There’s a part of him that feels the voice etched into his brain like it’s been carved deep into his memory, and yet there is something off about it. An underlying layer that is both so familiar and not. Like something he recognizes, only not here. Something he should remember, only not now. As it is it sounds distant, garbled, reaching his ear as a more high pitched ringing, and he tries to focus in. Tries to isolate the tone and dissect it in his mind, but it’s slipping away. He’s slipping away. Down, down, deep into the darkness he falls, spiralling out of control as he sinks deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit of nothing, and he flails helplessly, reaching and grasping at anything , but there is nothing .

“—ed. Zed.” He hears a voice call him. Different than before, but somehow more familiar. The tone was gone now, taking any notion of confusion or discrepancy with it. There was a recognition there now, one that had been absent before, and he grasps onto the voice like a lifeline, latching onto this newfound source of familiarity and wrapping every fibre of his being around its words. “Wake up, buddy. You’re fine.”

He pries his eyes open with a great effort, slowly regaining his senses as he comes to. And he sees blue . A sea of brilliant blue, shimmering bright and blinding like the hot sun reflecting off the waves of the ocean, still just a little bit fuzzy as if he was actually submerged within them. And it’s bright . So bright that it actually hurts him to see, and he flinches away, turns his head inwards as if trying to hide, but the brightness stays. 

“Zed.” The voice calls again, and he flinches harder. His head feels as if it is being pumped full of water, the liquid pressing against the seams of his skull and ready to burst, and he squints his eyes shut. He tries to move a hand to cover them further, but his arms feel like lead, as if his very limbs had been turned to stone, and from somewhere within the depths of his haze, he can feel his body convulse, as if trying to regain a hold of itself.

“Come on.” The voice calls again, gentle and yet firm. Like a parent beckoning forth a stubborn child, or perhaps a dog being called back to its owner. Not overly hostile, and yet firm enough to suggest the overtness of the matter, in a tone that plainly displayed the absence of request.

And he tries. He turns his head forward and slowly opens his eyes, once again staring up into a blinding blue that seemed even brighter than before. And he tries to focus his gaze. He really really tries. But it hurts . It hurts so much that he can’t even stand it. It was like he was being swallowed by the sun. Like each blinding tendril of light has wrapped itself around his insides, squeezing and pulling and tying his stomach into knots, baking his organs from the inside out as if he was currently suffering from the worst sort of heat stroke imaginable. And the more he tries, the more it burns , a hot saliva pooling in his mouth like an acid as he feels his stomach convulse within him. 

“ Zed. ”

His eyes snap open in the next instance, the man sitting bolt upright as he promptly vomits onto the floor. He twists his body sideways and he wretches, supporting himself on his hands as he sputters and he coughs, heaving his stomach onto the cold stone like it was trying to purge the organs from his body. 

He felt awful. Like a deep rooted nausea had just seized him by the back of the throat. He feels it everywhere. In his head, in his chest, the very pits of his stomach. And Jevin says nothing; simply waits for him to ride it out as his body shakes beneath him. And he continues to wretch. On and on it continues until there is nothing left to come up, and then he wretches still; coughing up a disgusting bile from the deepest pits of his stomach, and when even that too ceases production, he simply sits there and heaves, his empty stomach continuing to convulse as if it, like him, could physically not remember how to do literally anything else.

It’s his own exhaustion that eventually causes him to stop. Not that his nausea had vanished, or his stomach become empty, or really as if he had felt literally any better at all, but rather because his body simply couldn’t anymore. He sits there for several moments in silence. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to lay his head down on the floor and press his cheek against the cold stone and he wanted to close his eyes and sleep. A week, a month, a year, a decade, right now he felt he could have slept through all the way to the next millennia if it meant that he did not have to be conscious right now.

From the corner of his eye he catches something move, and he slowly turns his head towards it without any real sense of urgency. He didn’t even think he’d mind any of the monsters coming to finish him off at this point. He was certainly in no condition to fight them, and if dying was what it took in order to make his head stop pounding, he didn’t even think he’d want to. But like many things that day, it also doesn’t kill him, and with a great effort, he finally forces his eyes to focus. And then, with an even greater strain, he forces himself to speak.

“…Jev?”

“There he is.” Jevin smiles down at him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, sunshine.”

Zedaph blinks, staring up at him. He seemed so much brighter than he’d remembered him. In fact, everything seemed so much brighter than he’d remembered. He looks over at Jevin, the man holding aloft a singular soulfire lantern, it’s flame burning bright and steady as it illuminates the area. Which is when he realizes. He could see. The darkness had gone. Not completely, but it was manageable now. Like any ordinary cave would have been had they been traversing elsewhere, and he immediately begins to scan the surrounding area, suddenly remembering the previously transpired events that had lead them to this point.

“Where’s the—“

“It’s gone.” Jevin replies immediately. “Shot it just before you fell. It dropped this.” He holds up a singular Skulk Catalyst in his hand, the man scowling down at the patheticness of this inconsequential prize. “Bloody useless if you ask me. Could have at least given us something vaguely useful.”

Zedaph coughs abruptly, immediately raising an arm to his mouth as if he might start to vomit again, but he doesn’t. His throat felt dry, his tongue rough like a sandpaper that sticks to the roof of his mouth as he attempts to swallow. He feels absolutely disgusting, a firm reminder at just how much of a mess that he currently was, and he grimaces.

He had just raised his arm to wipe his mouth on the sleeve when he is given a sudden start. The fabric there was cold . His shirt was completely soaked through, enough that the article had actually felt heavy  in its weight, the drenched material moulding itself to his body and sticking to his skin like a full body shrink wrap. Which is when he begins to notice the unexpected weight of his jeans, the uncomfortable slosh in his shoes. He looks down at his clothes, a strand of waterlogged hair flopping down over his eye and he blinks, confused.

“…Why am I wet .”

“ Well… ” Jevin starts, smiling sheepishly. Zedaph looks up at him expectantly. “You…kinda fell.” The man continues. “The Warden knocked you off and I guess you kinda blacked out for a second, and then the gorge broke your fall.” He raises his lantern as if to accentuate his point, and Zedaph follows his gaze, looking out across the facade of a black lake, now illuminated within the dull glow. The surface looked choppy, marred by a cascade of ripples that lapped away at its edges, as if recently disturbed. And just off shore, not far from their current position, was a small pool, from which sprouted a trail of water that led directly to his current position. And then from there, the trail continued, branching off across the stone slate, and as his eyes follow through, his gaze comes to land back on the form of Jevin, and it is only now that he notices the man’s similarly sodden attire. Jevin shoots him a lopsided grin. “It was actually a pretty perfect aim, if I’m honest. Couldn’t have planned that better myself.”

Zedaph flops back against the floor with a huff, star-fishing his limbs against the cool stone as he simply allows himself to breathe. He smiles lightly.

“So that was your plan, huh.”

Jevin shrugs. “I mean…more or less, yeah.” Zedaph fights back a laugh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re completely insane?”

“Hey, that was a perfectly executed plan, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jevin argues.

“ Oh  flawless , yeah.” He agrees.

“Yeah! I mean there were a few hiccups here and there, but I mean right up until the whole drowning bit that was a perfectly executed plan.”

Zedaph closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone tiredly. “Right. Sorry. My bad. Sorry if the dying kind of threw a wrench into your otherwise completely impeccable plan. You know, my fault really.”

“ Shhhh , it’s fine! I got you, boo!”

“Awe, my hero.”

“Thank you, thank you. I try, I try.”

He smiles to himself.

“Hey Jevin.”

“Yeah.”

“Jev.”

“Mhm.”

“What do you say next time we just let it despawn, yeah?”

Jevin snorts, laughing through his nose. “Fair enough.” Jevin smiles lightly. Zed tries to smile too, but it comes out as more of a grimace, the man managing a sort of half chuckle that gets caught in his throat before stopping abruptly as his face screws up in pain. Jevin frowns. “You alright, man?”

“M’ fine.” He croaks out. “Ya know, only feel marginally like I was just hit by a bus.”

“Oh dude, you just got wrecked by a sonic boom. And then also almost drowned. Was kinda sick.”

“Ah. Well that explains it then.” He doubles over, rolling himself onto his side and clutching at his stomach with a groan. He frowns. “I think I’m gonna stay here for a minute.”

Jevin twists his hands awkwardly.

“You need anything?” He offers. “I’ve got some food if you need to regen.”

“Ya know, why don’t we cross that bridge in about 5 minutes when I feel slightly less like I’m going to vomit on your shoes.”

“Imma be real with you, I’m not, like, the best at the whole doctor thing.”

“…What do you mean?!” Zedaph smirks lightly.

“I mean…”

“You’re clearly the one best suited of the two of us, Jevin.” He continues.

“Hang on hang on, I got this.” Jevin clears his throat. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

“Zero.”

“Zero?” Jevin blinks, taken aback. “What-“

“Zero stars…” Zedaph smirks despite himself. “Would not recommend.”

“ Oh my god. ” Jevin sighs deeply.

Chapter 46: ZombieCleo

Notes:

I swear to god I did not mean to make this chapter so long, it just kind of happened. I am sorry if it seems a bit all over the place, I got tired of looking at it and may or may not have given up trying to make Joe sound accurate about halfway through…

Also hello! I live! I am sorry for the long wait between chapters, I’ve actually been in the process of moving in the last couple of months and I literally just moved into my new house yesterday and it has been a little chaotic to say the least, so I appreciate all of your patience with me 😅

It starts, as many things so often did with her, with Joe.

It was late that night, long after the sun had since been swallowed by the horizon. Cleo had been in her bed, half tucked beneath sheets of white cotton, a blanket of teal slung loosely around her waist, and a pair of spectacles of the same colour sat perched upon her nose as her slender fingers casually flicked through the pages of her novel - a gift that Joe had bequeathed upon her from his travels.

She had always liked reading before bed. It was a calming sort of past time, she’d found. Something that allowed her mind to focus on something other than her work, allowing her body to wind down from the days activities. This was her “me” time, as it were, and it was something that was done exclusively for her .

There was very rarely anybody about at this time, which made her situation ideal. There was of course Bdubs, who was currently curled up in his own bed across the room, the man having passed out hours ago after having slipped into unconsciousness the second his head had hit the pillow at the slightest indication of sundown. But aside from him, the night had otherwise found their shared dormitory completely empty.

Until now.

She had just turned over the page of her book when she spots him. Joe enters through the North door of the dormitory, a singular book and quill tucked beneath his arm, the man sauntering across the room with a great purpose as he approaches her plot and plonks himself right at the base of the bed. Practically throwing himself at her feet as he sprawls out fully onto his stomach like he owned the place before simply opening his book without a single word.

And this was how it begins.

“…Hello?” She questions, confused.

“Hi!” Comes his immediate, innocent sounding response, the man offering no further explanation, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” She tries again.

“No, I’m good!” He replies in the same tone, her eyes staring holes into the back of his skull as if her gaze alone would be enough to coax an explanation from the man, but he merely sits there, unbothered. Innocently kicking his legs into the air like a small child with a box of crayons on the floor, and she blinks again.

“… Are you?”

“Well, you know Cleo, I like to believe that there is good inside all, and thus I would like to imagine that such a thing were to also reside within me, however I have often been told that the act of good and evil is also a social construct, and therefore made to be judged by others, and so whether I do believe that I am or am not good — you know, it’s not really up to me to decide. You know, that’s— that’s kind of a public issue, there.”

“…”

“…?”

“…Ok Joe.”

And that was that. She picks up her book again and continues to read, promptly deciding that she was not going to question him further.

Joe remained there for quite some time, the man scribbling away within his journal, often flipping back and fourth between pages and writing something down. She looked up every now and then at the disturbance. He would often skip 3 or 4 pages at a time, rifling through pages as if looking for something within his own writing, although as to what, she could not say. At first she thought perhaps that he was simply writing a bit of poetry. That their infamous poet was simply composing another of his many works, or perhaps doodling upon the paper like a sketch book, as he was also known to do. It was not an uncommon site to see the man with a journal, he often carried one in their other worlds as well, and he pulled it out often whenever something struck his fancy, and so his use of one now did not particularly strike her as anything overtly special.

Until she sees her name scrolled across the top of one of the pages.

“What are you writing?” She asks, suddenly curious, peering over the top of her own book as she glances towards the pages of the other. Joe turns the book towards her.

“It’s a chat log.” He explains simply, and she picks up the tome. “A record of deaths and achievements, categorized by Hermit in chronological order.”

She looks down at the page, reading the words upon the paper facing her.

~

ZombieCleo - End (Spawn)

ZombieCleo has just made the advancement [Monster Hunter]

ZombieCleo starved to death.

ZombieCleo was slain by Ender Dragon.

ZombieCleo fell from a high place.

ZombieCleo has just made the advancement [Free The End]

ZombieCleo has just made the advancement [Cover Me with Diamonds]

ZombieCleo has just earned the achievement [DIAMONDS!]

~

She turns to another page.

~

BdoubleO100 - Overworld (Ocean Monument)

BdoubleO100 drowned.

BdoubleO100 drowned whilst trying to escape Elder Guardian.

BdoubleO100 was killed by Elder Guardian using Magic. (X4)

BdoubleO100 has just earned the achievement [The Deep End] .

BdoubleO100 has just earned the achievement [Monster Hunter] .

BdoubleO100 drowned.

~

“Why?” She questions curiously, flipping to the next page, on the top of which she reads: GoodTimesWithScar - Overworld (Ocean?)

“I dunno.” Joe shrugs. “I thought maybe it might help to have things organized.” He explains. “Like…if someone needed… help …if— if someone was trying to send a message or something, you know. Or just— I don’t know, I just thought it might make it a little easier to pinpoint a location if we could sort of… isolate the chat and divide by person.”

“…That was smart, Joe.” She says, genuinely impressed. “Well done.”

“Thank you.”

She flips several move pages, right to the back of where he had stopped writing, and she finds 3 final names.

~

FalseSymmetry - No record

~

Mumbo Jumbo - No record

~

Welsknight - No record

~

She flips back to the beginning and leaf’s through again.

“You have a question mark beside Scar.” She notes with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

Joe shrugs. “I was mostly just unsure. Based off of his deaths I figured it might have been some sort of Ocean, but I wasn’t sure.”

“I’m pretty sure he said it was an Ocean.” Cleo confirms.

“But which one? ” Joe presses on. “There are 9 Ocean variants. Which one did he start in?”

“Does it matter?” She questions. “I mean, we’ve already found him, we don’t really need to know where he started now, do we?”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I mean…”

“Well, ok, let me just— I— let me just ask you a question, Cleo.” He states, not at all like a question and yet indicative in a way that Cleo knows he is still expecting a response.

Cleo shrugs. “Alright.”

“Do you think…” he starts “that there’s duplicate spawn locations?”

She shrugs again. “I mean, I dunno, possibly? It’s kinda difficult to say, ‘innit?”

“Ok, so then let me ask you another question.” He pauses again, longer this time, and she looks over at him expectantly. “…Why do you think…we were brought here?”

“Suffering.” She replies instantly, if not a bit bitterly. “Torture. Misery. Malice. Disdain.” Joe shifts at the base of the bed. “You don’t agree.”

“Let’s say that I did.” He tries. “What has anyone to gain from making us suffer?

“Entertainment.” She offers dryly.

“Ok…and in that reality, would it not make more sense for each spawn to be unique?”He reasons. “Would a unique spawn not be more entertaining than a copy?”

“I mean, I guess? Was there a point to this?”

“The point is if each spawn is unique, that means we can narrow down our search. Like…here.” He gestures to the room as a whole. “We know that Bdubs started in an Ocean Monument. Which means, if I’m correct, I’m willing to bet that nobody else started in an Ocean Monument. Does that make sense?

“It does, I’m just not sure how helpful it’s going to be.” She thinks for a moment. “Like look, let’s say we did this properly. If you’re going to list out every dimension, every biome, every structure, every natural phenomenon …we’re gonna be here a while. And even if you managed to knock a few of those off, the list is still going to be 18 pages long .“

“Have you ever heard of the game Sudoku, Cleo?” Joe says suddenly.

Cleo blinks, taken aback by this supposed abrupt change of topic. “…I…have…” she says carefully, unsure where he was going with this.

“Ok cool, so you know the general layout, the 9x9 grid composed of 9 sub boxes filled with a random assortment of numbers from 1 to 9, ya know all that fun stuff.” Joe continues.

“…yeah…” She responds again, once again confused as to where he was going.

“Ok! So! You know how the goal is to fill each box with a number…so that each column, row, and each of the nine 3x3 sub grids contains a number from 1 to 9…without repeating any numbers within each column, row, and sub grid?“

“Uh huh…”

“And you know how you— you maybe can’t fill in certain boxes right away without filling out other boxes first because like— it— maybe there are too many options for that particular square.”

“Yeah.”

“And you need to fill out other boxes first in order to narrow down what the correct number is for that particular spot.”

“Right.”

“Ok.” Joe takes a breath. “What if…this was like that.”

Cleo blinks. “…you’re comparing us…to Sudoku …”

“I mean yeah, it might be a little bit of a stretch, but think about it. You said this alone wasn’t enough, right? But you have to keep in mind, Cleo, that these aren’t our only clues. We might know that this box isn’t a 5 because there’s already a 5 in it’s row, but we also know that it isn’t a 4 because there is a 4 in it’s column. It’s about perspective. Let’s put it this way. What are the odds that like… Keralis started someplace with…bushes or something?” He asks. “Or TFC somewhere underground? Or, like…Jevin and Cub with their speed running. What are the odds they started in like, the End ?”

“Umm…slim to none?” She responds. “Relatively speaking?”

“Right.” He agrees. “So that’s our baseline. We take what we know about each other and apply that here. We know that it was statistically very unlikely that Cub would start in the End, and this eliminates one dimension. That’s perspective one. For perspective two, we look at his deaths. Based on his deaths we know that he started in the Nether, and based off of how he died during the first day, we know that we can also eliminate 2 of the 5 biomes within. That leaves us with perspective 3. Let’s say…Stress. We know that Stress started in a Bastion, right? Well, if we take that and apply it to Cub …We know that Cub is in the Nether based off of his death messages, but we also now know that he didn’t , for example, start in a Bastion. It’s all little pieces of the puzzle.”

“I see what you’re getting at, I just don’t think it’s going to be enough. I mean there’s still the Overworld to consider. You’d have to first eliminate everyone underground before you cross any actual biomes off the list. And even if you can narrow down a spawn, that’s only their starting location. It doesn’t say anything about where they are now.

“It’s a start though, is my point.”

“It is a start, I’ll give you that.” She gives him back his book, once again reaching to pick up her own. Joe sighs.

“I just feel like we’re missing something.” He says. “Like there’s this…magical… solution that we’ve been overlooking all this time, and I just don’t know what it is.”

She feels the slightest weight press itself against her thigh then, and without particularly giving it much thought she instinctively reaches her hand forward, not even so much as turning her head as she allows her fingers to comb through the mess of tangled locks now nestled in her lap.

“Joe?” She asks after a moment. Joe looks up at her.

“Hm?”

“You said you didn’t agree with me before.” She starts. “About why we were brought here.”

Joe shrugs. “Yeah, I just— I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to explain…I dunno, it just feels off to me.”

“And why’s that?” She pushes, twirling a small braid into the side of his hair.

“You said we were brought here for suffering.” He states.

“I did.” She agrees.

“Are you suffering right now?”

“Always, Joe.” She replies instantly. “I mean, I gotta put up with you , don’t I?” She smiles lightly.

“That is true. I am very insufferable.” He agrees.

“You are! You’re like one of those obscure types of moss that doesn’t die.”

Joe grins. “I’m like the cat from that one song, uh…Where…the guy keeps trying to get rid of this cat. And it just keeps coming back until the guy, like, blows up his house or something. And then they both die and his ghost is just stuck with this cat for eternity. Like yeah that’s— that’s Joe Hills.”

Cleo chuckles. “An eternity of Joe Hills. God help us all.”

They existed in silence for a long while after that, Joe continuing to scribble away into the margins of his book, and Cleo casually flicking through the pages of her own. Neither moved, nor spoke, nor particularly acknowledged any presence of the other, and yet Cleo found herself moved by a sense of ease. A peaceful co-existence of the two that contained a warmth like a comfort, with a contentment that strikes her with such a familiarity that she can’t help but be enthralled by an innate sense of calm.

It’s not until she feels the shift that she looks up from her book again. The touch had been subtle, what could have barely even been considered a stir by movement standards, but she had felt it. It was like Joe had suddenly become heavy, as if every muscle in his body had relaxed at once, his head simply nodding off like he couldn’t possibly hold it aloft any longer, and she feels the subtle nudge as it now comes to properly rest against the curve of her thigh.

Which is when she began to realizes just how late that it truly was.

“Joe?”

“Hm…”

“You need to go to bed.”

He doesn’t respond to this statement immediately, and when she is convinced that he is in fact not going to, she tries again.

“Joe?”

When this too yields no additional response, she gives his shoulder a pointed nudge with the back of her foot.

“Hun, you need to get up.”

He is silent for several long moments, long enough that she thinks he may have actually fallen asleep, but after a moment he eventually stirs and mumbles out a response.

“…Ok.”

He says nothing else, but shimmies out of her lap, managing to pull himself into a mostly upright position somewhere at the base of the bed, and then he stops. Cleo rolls her eyes.

“Come on.” She throws the blanket from herself, realizing that she may in fact need to provide him with some means of assistance, maneuvering her legs over the side of the bed and scooching down until she is beside him, before silently holding out her hand. As before, it takes him a moment to respond, the man silently working himself up to the movement, but after a moment he turns, reaching his own hand out towards her and wordlessly accepting the offered support, and she heaves, standing as she does so and pulling him right along with her. “You, my friend, are a mess.”

“It’s organized chaos.” He mutters. Cleo scoffs.

“Sure Joe.” She can feel him lean against her as he stands, and she throws an arm around his back for support. “I dunno how organized it is, but it is definitely chaotic.”

She half drags him back to his own room, another of the identical five by five plots stationed about the place. Well, mostly identical. Those which had been claimed seemed to possess a certain… life to them.

Across the room, Scar, in his true terraforming fashion, had constructed a custom oak, its curved trunk leaning out across the remaining space of his plot, its roots interspersed with many barrels and the floor carpeted with its fallen leaves. And from its branches, suspended from wooden posts of spruce that looked suspiciously like ropes, hung a blue-green tinged hammock, within which many blankets of white were currently tangled in heaps, spilling over its edge in a rather haphazard fashion.

Beside Scar, and directly across from her was Bdubs, who had gone for a more traditional style bedroom. Like her, he too had gone with blankets of teal, no doubt in an attempt to match the surrounding hue of the already bluish green walls of which encased the structure. He had barrels stacked in haphazard heaps against the pillar that intersected the corner of his particular plot, like hers, and a singular potted fern sat atop a small end table. The bed itself was set back, pushed against a large dresser that almost seemed to wrap around its frame, and in the far corner, pushed against the wall - a singular grandfather clock stood tall, it’s golden face gleaming in the light.

Ren, to her left, had taken things even further. For in lieu of one’s typical bedroom, he had in fact constructed an entire base camp. His own bed was nestled within a dark green tent-like tarp, beneath which sat a full fire and cauldron suspended over uneven ground that looked long overgrown. Against the back wall was a desk, complete with travellers log and lanterns, as if he had in fact been writing over candlelight. And adorning that same wall was a display of trinkets - a half explored treasure map, an areal shot of their Ocean Monument, a singular compass displayed in a frame. There was even a white skull sat perched atop a barrel by the desk - the travellers trinkets of your average explorer. At least, according to Ren.

Joe’s room looked almost tame by comparison - a rather outstanding feat, she thought, given his nature. Although his was in fact far more decorated than her own. She figured that his time in the Stronghold must have left some lasting impression, because his plot was positively bursting with books . Shelves upon shelves of books surround an inverted loft bed, the bed itself positioned firmly on the floor with a ladder leading to a desk space above. This order was typically reversed in any normal-style loft bed, but Joe had his reasons. “I couldn’t possibly put the bed on the top, Cleo. I mean, I wouldn’t want people to think I’m antisocial because I’ve put it as far away as possible.”

Let’s just say that it was a very Joe kind of reasoning.

She didn’t particularly have far to go, for which she was grateful. Joe’s plot was directly beside hers, but although the man wasn’t particularly large, he was in fact a lot heavier than he looked, and his body felt like a deadweight as she half drag-carry’s him back to his own room.

She approaches the bed, its own blankets dyed a sickly chroma green. Because of course they are. She thought. This was Joe after all, and any other colour would have been far less obnoxious for him. And Joe wouldn’t really be himself if he wasn’t at least a little bit obnoxious, now would he?

The wooden floorboards creak beneath her as she shifts her weight, drawing back the chroma green covers just enough so that she can shift Joe into place, and he complies simply. Easily. Allowing himself to be guided forward until he is settled against his own mattress. She wasn’t even sure he was fully conscious enough to really know what he was doing, merely allowing himself to be guided blindly with an innate and unwavering trust that made even her decaying heart feel whole.

She tucks him in like a sleeping child, gently removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose and folding them neatly before tucking them safely into the bookcase. It was then that she had turned to leave, but she stops when she hears Joe mutter something under his breath.

“… Missed you. ”

She laughs lightly. “Dork.”

There’s an additional sarcastic retort twitching somewhere at the tip of her tongue, but as she looks down at the man’s half sleeping form, she finds all traces of sarcasm had suddenly left her, and whatever she had been about to say had died on her lips. Instead she looks up, glancing around the room as if to be sure that no one was about to witness, before looking back down at the man’s sleeping form, the softest of smiles playing lightly against her lips.

“I missed you too.”

Joe says nothing to this, his breathing already slowed and even in his sleep. But amidst his unconscious form, she thinks she can make out just the barest ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, and she grins to herself, already making her way back to her own bed.

And with any luck, he’ll forget all about that in the morning.

—

She is awoken the following morning by a soft pitter-pattering against the glass. It was raining today, she realized, the first time she had seen it do so since arriving on this world. She had always loved watching the rain. The smell of the freshly cleansed earth, the soft steady rhythm of water droplets against the window pane. It was meditative, in a way. Calming. For without rain there was no life. It was a symbolic sort of representation, she’d found, for rain was often characterized as the epitome of darkness, and so often was it forgotten to represent the very essence of rebirth.

She finds herself alone in the dormitory, having out-slept the others. Joe had already gone, as had Bdubs, the other boys having obviously worked through the night, as she had not seen hide nor tail of either Ren nor Scar since sometime before sundown.

The room now felt quiet, still, almost eerily so for currently having the sole occupancy of housing 5 people, soon to be more, and yet there is something almost peaceful about it. Like an empty classroom during recess, with vacant desks scattered with crayons and glue pots and multi-coloured construction paper. The home base of children who have been set upon the world, with a promise to return with new stories from their grand adventures. It was the ultimate act of co-existence, she thought, one of which only children could emphasize so well. A teacher does not fret over an empty classroom, but rather rejoices in the knowledge that her children are existing in the world. Living their own lives and having their own adventures, and that they manage to exist together as well as apart, for an empty room was not a sign of quiet, but rather an indicator of play, as it was here, and while they would eventually return to their home base, it’s currently vacancy was more symbolic of life - and an indicator that each was out living it.

She strolls through their Monument in an absent-minded fashion, twisting and turning through halls in a manner that lacked all real sense of direction, but then, she didn’t particularly have a destination in mind. She just wanted to walk. A leisurely sort of stroll that accomplished little more than the passage of time, and even then she didn’t particularly care one way or another. She didn’t particularly need to clear her mind or else feel the need to dissect the many thoughts within her head, as was often the case when one set out on a stroll such a this. It was just kind of…nice. Like exploring in her own sort of way. Not particularly notating, but observing. Appreciating.

She approaches the back garden, feeling several cool water droplets against her skin as she steps outside, and she turns her face to the sky. It wasn’t raining particularly hard at the moment. Merely a soft sort of drizzle that was enough to make the soil grow damp, but that was about it. A few excessive droplets of water seemed to catch within the leaves of their dense thickets of trees, pooling within the crease of each frond before collapsing down upon her as she meandered through their maze of trunks. Scar had constructed a considerably large sized courtyard in their absence, one that stretched at least 100 meters across in either direction. A currently flat square of grass that was completely packed with haphazard lumpings of every tree they had managed to collect. Spruce and oak, as well as several thatches of the darker variant and a little bit of birch. These were strewn about in every which way, utilizing the full capacity of the land as a massive tree farm, natural and manual, but functional.

It is near the back of this courtyard where she finally finds some traces of life. In the back left hand corner there was a clearing, stripped of all thatches of trees, and in their place there was a field. Fields of a golden wheat that surround two small, wooden structures, the first of which still looked to be under some minor degrees of construction, and it is within this field where she finds the man of which she had found notably absent the night before.

Scar stands directly in the middle of the field with his back to her, crouched low amidst the crops, with his head just poking out above the stalks of wheat in which he was currently stood. She watches as he sneaks forward, completely oblivious to her presence there, and as she watches on, she sees the man reach for his bow, knocking an arrow before drawing back his bow string. He takes a very considerable aim towards the back building, calculated and precise looking, and as she follows the arrows point of direction she finds the form of Ren, the man currently stood upon the structures roof, and she looks back at Scar.

Now, it was very obviously clear what he was up to. This was Scar, and the man, among other things, was known to enjoy the odd bit of mischief. But then, so was she. And Scar, as excellent of a shot that he might be, was also easily startled and rather famously un-observant. And with his back to her, the man’s full attention on his task at hand, it was almost too easy for the woman, and without so much as a single thought to the contrary, Cleo grins to herself and sneaks up behind.

“ HI Scar!!”

“ AIIIYYYY!! ” Scar jumps at least a foot into the air, his arrow flying wildly off course as the man lets out the most high pitched squeal that Cleo had ever heard, and trampling at least 3 crops in the process. Cleo bursts out laughing.

“ Oh—! Oh—! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh, Cleo! You scared me so much, I think I felt my heart stop there, oh—! ”

Cleo only laughs harder. A full hearty laugh that leaves her stomach in stitches. A bright, full bodied sound that rings out loudly within the enclosed walls of their courtyard, and one that makes even their most cloudiest of days seem to pop with a full rainbow of colour. Scar clutches his chest.

“ Hoh . Oh my gosh, Cleo. Cleo . My heart is pounding so hard right now, I nearly jumped right outta my pants— which would have been very indecent by the way, makin’ a man jump out of his pants like that, you should be ashamed —“ Cleo giggles. “ Hoooooh I need to lie down, oh my gosh— hello! Hello! Welcome! Welcome!”

Cleo giggles again. “ Hi Scar! How ya doin’?”

“Oh fine! Fine! Just doing a bit of gardening, you know.”

“Oh you were gardening! ” She says pointedly, the barest tinge of a humour there, in a voice that plainly displayed that she knew exactly what he had been doing, and she smirks.

“Yeah, yeah! Just gardening, you know, nothing going on, wasn’t trying to sneak up on Ren or anything, nooooo.”

“ Really? ” She smirks again. “Cause it looks an awful lot like you were, uh… shall we say, up to shenanigans over here.” Scar waves her off.

“ Whaaaaaat? Noooo, no. No snegranigans. Just gardening, just gardening.”

“Just gardening.” She repeats.

“Yeah! You know, gotta plant some seeds, harvest some wheat, make some bread, you know how it goes.”

She looks him up and down, her gaze inevitably resting upon the hand at his side, in the grasp of which was still held his weapon of choice, and she looks up at the man with an arched eyebrow.

“Gardening…with a…bow.”

As if on cue the weapon disappears from his grasp, vanishing into nothing as if it had been swallowed by the void, and she knows the man’s stashed it somewhere up his jacket, and he stares over at her without so much as blinking an eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t—“

“ Cleo .” He approaches now, smoothly sliding up beside her and wrapping an arm slowly around her shoulder, and he offers a chummy sort of pat. “Cleo.” He says again. “Come here. Just look at this face. Does this look like the face of a man who would ever cause shashwamians?”

“Only if you’re Xisuma.” She quips expertly and Scar blinks, confused. Cleo snickers to herself.

He was distracting her. She knew he was distracting her, using his charismatic charm to draw her attention, and she lets him do it. After all, she wasn’t particularly bothered either way, and after all, this was Scar she was dealing with.

“No, you’re right.” She concedes. “You are clearly the perfect baby angel. Who could never do any wrong. And you clearly need to be protected at all costs.”

“ Thank you!” He replies, delighted. “You know, I keep saying this to people and nobody ever believes me for some reason.”

“Really. I couldn’t possibly imagine why.”

“I know right? But between you and me Cleo,” he leans in closer, speaking in hushed tones as if about to divulge a great secret, “I think they’re all just jealous of my super amazing abs.”

“Oh, well obviously .” She replies, smirking devilishly. “I mean they are clearly the best inflatable abs of the highest of qualities. And they are clearly of the greatest of paradigms representative of a modern falsification.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I heard you say they’re the best, and that’s good enough for me!”

Cleo laughs again.

“Scar!” The sound of another voice disrupts them, calling their attention, and she looks towards the source of the new sound. “ Bro! You’re supposed to be helping me, dude!”

The form of Ren bounds into view then, the man covered head to toe in a sandlike dust that almost looked to be wood chips, and Scar grins ear to ear.

“Ren, come here, come here! Look who’s decided to join us!”

“Cleo!” Ren exclaims with a grin. “What’s happenin’ baby? How you bin, mama?” Cleo leans her head closer to Scar.

“…That was weird for you too, right?”

“Oh yeah, super weird.” Scar nods sagely.

“Ok… Hi Ren! I’m good! I’m good— Have you both been out here all night? ” She glances back at the structure behind him, eying it curiously and with some minor degrees of astonishment, and Scar immediately jumps at the opportunity, releasing her arm as he leaps before her.

“Oh yeah, yeah! Why don’t you just step right on up over here, we’ll give you the  grand tour, do a little site seeing, you know all that fun stuff.”

“Umm…sure.”

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Guardian using Magic.

At the sound of the ping, 3 hands each reach for their communicators, and she pauses as she looks down at the screen.

“Oh…umm…Bdubs!” She calls into the air. “You alright?!”

“ WHY?! ” Comes a very distant sounding shout, and she looks up at her friends.

“You think we should go and help him?”

“Nah nah, he’s fiiiiine!” Scar waves her off. “A little death never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, alright , says you .” She teases.

“I would like to point out that I have not died once for this entire time.”

“And there’s something incredibly wrong with that picture.”

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was slain by Guardian using Magic.

“Oh…”

“I got it!” Ren steps in suddenly, already running across the courtyard towards their main structure. “Hang on BdoubleO! Help is on the way!”

“You still don’t think we should help him?”

“Nah, he’s fine! Anyway! So over here , Cleo—“

Cleo laughs again, and Scar pauses.

“What?”

“No, nothing.” She says brightly, composing herself, the corners of her lips turning downwards in a barely contained smile. “Please carry on.”

Same old Scar.

He leads her forward to the first of 2 structures. The first of which was an old wooden silo, not particularly large by Hermit standards, and yet tall enough that it’s cracked stone roof still towers over her. The structure looked old, with a mossy cobbled roof and a weathered oak siding, several of its stripped logs covered in thick patches of vines that should have taken weeks to grow naturally and yet they had miraculously managed to sprout overnight.

At the base of the silo was what looked to be a small wooden coop, surrounded on both sides by raised beds of golden wheat, with bundles stacked against the siding and layers of straw strewn about the floor. To the door of which was carved a path, one that circled back around the silo and flanked by lush bushes of green foliage, and around the back, just managing to peak itself over the top of the structure, was a custom tree. A singular birch, larger than any she would have dared attempt, and yet a modestly sized entity for any act of the man she knew to be its creator. Scar had always had a specific knack for the manipulation of nature, a certain flair of which many of them lacked, and despite its modest size, she found the body retained no less detail, and it looked every bit as beautiful as the grand arching forests of which the man was typically known to create.

“Alright so this here is our chicken farm!” Scar says proudly and charismatically. “We’ve been proud chicken farmers here since 1932, and we pride ourselves on our top quality home grown chickens, seed fed from birth with the highest of quality wheat, picked straight from our own garden!”

Cleo approaches the base of the silo, stepping up to the single oak door of the chicken coop and peering through the window, and she stops.

“Umm…Scar?” She says, still staring through the window. “You seem to be missing something.”

“And what’s that?” He questions.

“ The chickens. ” She opens the door, swinging it wide upon its hinges, and revealing the interior to be completely empty. Scar is at her side in an instant, swiftly closing the door and ushering her on.

“ Moving on! Right this way, nothing to see here, Ahem… ”

Cleo snickers.

The second building was an old wooden water wheel, a vaguely medieval looking structure, and one that seemed to meld right into the prismarine walls of the large bridge encasing their courtyard. It was roughly the same height as the first, behind it and just slightly to the left, and nestled directly into the back corner of their courtyard.

The building itself was not overly symmetrical. With a base of a dark slate, atop of which sat a vaguely log cabin esk structure that possessed a distinctly leftward lean. On the right of the building there was an old spruce wheel, sat upon a small hand crafted river that carved a moat around the development, of which was filled with far too many fish for its size, and with a small cobbled bridge that arched a path of crossing.

“Alright, and what’s this one?” She raises an eyebrow, although she need not have asked. Her foot had no sooner graced the small bridge when she is suddenly assaulted with the most marvellous smell. An overwhelming scent of fresh bread that slaps her in the face the moment she is within the vicinity, and she inhales deeply.

“This here is our bread mill.” Scar explains needlessly, pushing open the door and leading her inside. “Made fresh in house with our own hand kneaded dough, risen to perfection and prepared by our humble chefs.” He approaches a furnace along the left wall, reaching within its large stone mouth and producing a singular loaf that had been sat upon its frame. “Go on! Try a slice! Just one bite and you will know the true meaning of love!”

She takes the offered object. It was still warm . She could feel the crisp outer coating of the crust, crackling beneath her fingertips, the woman breaking the loaf in half as she brings the warm insides to her nose and inhales deeply, and then she brings the object to her lips. The insides were so soft . A warm and fluffy texture that almost melts on her tongue, accentuated by the distinctive crunch of its perfect golden crust, and there were some things in life that weren’t amazing . Certain things that possessed no particularly flair or spectacle or overall exuberance about them, and yet still managed to convey an innate sense of comfort, and this was a prime example. Like a warm hug on a plate. Simple, and yet effectual, and Cleo was inclined to agree with Scars previous statement. This was indeed the true meaning of love.

“Alright! And that concludes our grand tour!” He tugs on the lapel of his jacket charismatically, leading her back through the door they had just come, and then they are once again standing outside. “Please don’t forget to stop by our gift shop on the way out, and for your tour guide fee that will be a grand total of 15 diamonds, tips are welcome! ”

“15 diamo— That’s a lot! ”

“Too much? Alright well how about this. For a special one time offer, we are offering a 20% discount off of your first visit only! What do ya say?”

Cleo stares at him like he had just grown a second head. “Scar, I’m poor. Like I literally don’t have a single diamond to my name.”

“Not a single diamond?” He deflates slightly.

“No! I’ve got nothing!” She exclaims. “Like actually , literally nothing.”

Scar takes a step back, looking at her squarely as if doing an appraisal, before making a final offer.

“I’ll settle for that chestplate.”

“What, my chestplate?”

“Yeah.”

She looks down as if on instinct, craning her neck so as to stare down upon the pale blue of her own Diamond encrusted armour. It wasn’t quite a complete set. She had only retained the original armour that Ren had given her - a set of boots, a helmet, and of course her chestplate. She’d had leggings too, a pair of iron that she had replaced once, currently tucked away within a drawer in the depths of her room along with the helm, both of which she had neglected to take with her when she had left that morning.

She looks back at Scar. His own armour was decidedly lacking. A mismatched set of iron and gold, rusted and incomplete and looking decidedly sorry for itself, and for a brief moment she remembers something else. Another time when he had asked her for much the same thing, albeit under different circumstances. He hadn’t been alone then, as he was now. Indeed she could picture his companion well, the man whispering mischief into his ear like a shoulder devil become sentient, the two giggling and scheming like a couple of school girls, and she wonders if there’s some unconscious part of him that remembers what she does now. A small inherent piece of himself buried deep that aches for one yet to be found. She thinks he must miss his friend, as she had hers, and it’s this thought alone that makes her genuinely consider the mans final proposal.

“Ok how about this.” She decides after a moment. “For giving me such an amazing tour—“

“Truly spectacular, if I do say so myself.”Scar interjects.

“Yes, yes truly spectacular. Was just, mwah! Chefs kiss. And for such a spectacular tour—“ she continues.

“Yes, yes?”

“I will give to you…”

“Go on.” Scar says eagerly.

“Uh, my unconditional love and support.”

If she could have framed the look on his face, she would have done so a thousand times over.

“Awe, come on! But I already had that!” Scar whines, pacing in front of her like an angry bunny stamping its feet, or perhaps an overly dramatic cat protesting a half empty food dish and this supposedly obvious lack of food, and he pouts. Cleo giggles.

“You did!” She agrees. “But you know…sometimes it’s nice to have that affirmation.”

Scar considers this for a moment, the man halting in his dramatic pacing as he ponders this thought, and he hums. “Hmm…this is true…Ok!”

And then he turns to her once more, all pouting gone now, a sort of mischievous gleam twinkling out of the corner of his eye as her turns to look at her with the slyest grin the woman had ever seen, and he once again leans in close as if to divulge a great secret.

“You wanna come help me do sheblamigins?”

She pauses. It was the sort of offer she normally would have jumped at. She could have used a solid bit of fun, and a mischievous Scar was always good for a laugh, particularly when said mischief was not directed at her, although even then she knew it to be in good fun. Scar had a very specific brand of mischief, she’d found, one in which often led to one’s demise - of the self or others was left to be determined, but both at least affirmed the absence of the act of a dull affair.

It was a bit of fun that normally would have excited her, and it did. But there was something about the situation that makes her pause. Something about the look in his eye that once again strikes her as being familiar, and it should . This was Scar after all, and the man was nothing if not a minor nuisance upon himself and to others, and yet amidst all of this, there was still something about it. A feeling deep within her gut that she knows and yet is off somehow. Like a large tree that has somehow sprouted out of the side of a rock, with twisted roots that weave through cracks, latching on to whatever smallish grains of nutrients it can and somehow managing to thrive, despite the simple fact that it should have never been able to grow there in the first place. And yet despite this fact, there is something that feels natural about the situation. Something that strikes her as so blatantly normal , and there was something that Joe had said to her the night before that suddenly pops into her head, and she pauses.

“I would , but I think I’m gonna go find a Joshepher Hills.”

“Ok!” Scar replies happily. “Tell Joe I say hiii! I’m gonna go scare Bdubs now, bye Cleo!”

“Bye Scar!” She calls after him, the man already making his way across the courtyard. “Good luck with your shenanigans!”

“Thank you!” Comes his last distant reply, and then she is alone once again.

And now to find Joe.

She doesn’t particularly have long to look. There were only so many places he could be, and although Bdubs and Scar had expanded their Monument drastically, there were only so many places a person could realistically hide.

Their original Throne Room was of course above the Monuments centre, surrounded by walls and boxed in by hallways on all sides. Each of these halls contained the frame of a door, all of which, besides the main entrance, exited into a long tube encased in glass. And attached to each of these, directly on the other side, was the structure of a giant greenhouse, each spanning the full length of the original Monument below, complete with arched roofs of a cyan glass, and supported by curved struts of a darkened prismarine.

Each of these 3 greenhouses was identical, save interior. As it stood, the leftmost structure, what they had converted into their shared dormitory spacing, was the only one of which currently contained any semblance of decoration. The other two remained empty, void of anything but the barest wireframes of an outline on the floor, with little more than the odd torch spaced apart at even intervals. But Joe was not in any of these locations. In fact, she finds him somewhere that she had not particularly been before.

Along the back ends of each greenhouse there was a gap. Two significantly large gaps right in the corner where each structure would meet, had they continued. And in each gap, there was a tower. Two, considerably large cylindrical silos that stretched nearly 200 feet into the air, each with a domed roof of a cyan glass, and a round prismarine base that dropped all the way to the Ocean floor.

She finds him in the leftmost tower, the one directly adjacent their dormitory. The inside was still relatively empty, she’d found, with little more than a haphazard heaping of chests and the frame of a large Nether Portal set against the back wall. But then there, amongst the piles of chests and haphazard shulker boxes, was Joe. Sitting cross legged in the middle of a floor of rustic spruce, surrounded on all sides by a large heaping of junk, and a small braid still woven into the side of his head just behind his left ear.

“Joe?” She calls as she approaches, and he immediately looks up at the sound of his name. Joe smiles.

“Hey Cleo!” He greets happily, and Cleo observes the monstrous mess of which the man was currently sat it.

“Hello. Wot’re you doing?”

Joe shrugs. “I figured we could set up some community chests. You know, if we’re gonna be bringing people all the way out here, I figured it might be nice to have some form of community storage for things like…ya know, spare armour, and tools. Maybe some basic building materials, ya know just— stuff like that.”

Cleo grins to herself. Same old Joe.

“You need any help?”

—

And she does help him for a while. For a time they both remained there, stacking chest upon chest into neat rows of columns, sorting through piles of mismatched armour and half broken tools, bits of log and mounds of stone, rolls of leather and scrap pieces of paper. She sorts until one might have almost  considered the room presentable - not perfect, but…maneuverable. Enough that one could cross the floor without tripping over chests and shulkers and whatever else had been piled into heaps when she’d first entered the chamber, and when she finds a lull in their conversation, that is when she asks what she really came for.

“Joe?” She questions.

“Hm?”

“Last night…you asked me if I was suffering.”

He looks up at her then, a knowing sort of glance, one that suggested he knows exactly where she was going with this, and she knows she doesn’t have to elaborate further. “ Are you?” He asks simply, genuinely, and she stares.

In lieu of an answer, she instead asks another question. “…Why do you think we were brought here?”

“Truthfully? I don’t know.” He opens another chest, pulling something from inside and replacing it with an object from the pile. “But if someone was truly trying to make us suffer, they’re not doing a very good job of it. I mean, we’ve had it too easy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” She replies defensively, remembering her own journey thus far, having considered her own spawn to be anything but easy.

“No but think about it.” He continues. “We were tasked with finding everyone, with the small caveat that each of us would start in what is essentially our own personalized versions of Hell, right? But if they truly wanted to punish us…why make us find each other at all? If the ultimate goal was to make us suffer, why would our primary objective be something that fundamentally pulls us away from its source? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I dunno, Joe. There’s a lot of things that don’t make sense. Like you, for example.” She grins.

“Yeah.”

“You are… clearly an enigma of the highest calibre. To all including yourself.”

“Yeah, you see, that’s the thing Cleo.” He begins. “I drive people to ask why , because…what is… confusion …if not the basis of creation? When man landed on the moon, do you think they were ever asked why , when the most obvious answer was always why not? What scientific discovery was ever rooted in what is known? How can any artist create without first experimenting with colour? Or a musician compose without finding their sound? The greatest of creation starts with an equally appointed act of confusion, and so I shall continue to strive for the utmost of perplexities because…creativity lies dormant within the self. And I am merely here to yell loud enough to wake it up.”

“…”

“…?”

“…Ok Joe.”

She digs through the remainder of her items, promptly deciding she was not going to question Joe further, and she pulls out several odd objects from the remainder of the chest.

“What should we do with these?” She asks, holding up a compass and several bits of flint, and Joe appraises the items in her hands.

“We should make a misc chest somewhere.” He decides. “For the items that don’t necessarily have a specific category.”

Cleo shrugs, already scooping up the remainder of her chest and moving to start a new row. “Alright.”

She had just replaced the bits of flint when Joe suddenly stops her again.

“Wait.”

“Hm?” Cleo stops, turning back to him quizzically, and he looks down towards her hand.

“Where did you get that?” He asks, staring at the item in her grasp. She looks down.

“What, this?” She holds up the compass still in her hand. “I found it in with that pile over there.” Joe stands and crosses the room.

“I…think that’s mine. From my stronghold.” He says warily. “I brought one back with me that I got from a chest at the library. It’s got that same scratch on the glass there, only…” Joe frowns and she hands him the compass.

“…Only what?” Cleo prompts.

He flips it over several times, turning and twisting and squinting into the glass, before eventually shaking his head. “…It’s not mine.”

“I thought you just said—“

“I know what I said, but I mean that it’s not mine .” He repeats. “My spawn was in the North. Look at the needle.”

“So, it’s probably the world spawn.” She reasons. “We just wouldn’t have spawned there because, you know, torture .”

“Do you know if we have another one of these?” He asks, gesturing with the device still in his grasp. “Scar got one from his shipwreck, right?”

“I mean, I think so?”

“Where’s the other one now?”

“I dunno, probably in a chest somewhere.”

“Great.”

And then he has crossed the room once again, sifting through shulkers and throwing open chests, and leaving her staring after him with only a mild concern as she watches him search through their ever-growing mountains of junk .

Which is precisely when Scar decides to join them.

“Hey guys! What’re we doing?” He asks cheerfully. Cleo, for her part, only grows more concerned.

“Looking for a compass, apparently.” She replies, not even looking over at the man as she continues to watch Joe in his enthused searching.

“Oh hey! I’ve got a compass!” Scar exclaims, oblivious. “I gave one to Ren just a couple days ago!”

She does look at him now, as does Joe, the man having stopped in his crazed hunting, and was now looking directly at Scar.

“You gave it to Ren?” Joe questions seriously, and Cleo’s eyes flick towards her friend, the man obviously up to something.

“Oh yeah! He said something about wanting it for fine details, so I let him have it!”

“Ren’s got a compass in his room.” She remembers suddenly. “In an item frame on the wall above his desk.”

“Where’s Ren right now?”

She shrugs. “Last I saw him he was going to help Bdubs get his stuff back after he died.”

“Ooo, I’ll get him!” Scar pipes in enthusiastically, already bounding towards the nearest exit and sing-songing a call. “ Ren!! Oh Reeeen!! ”

Joe immediately starts rummaging through chests again, and she looks back at him curiously. “Do we have iron somewhere?” He asks, the loud creak of a chest lid accentuating this request. “And some redstone?”

“I think so, why?”

“I just need to test something.”

“Test something how?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll show you.” He opens another chest.

“...oh…kay?”

Ping!

BdoubleO100 was shot by GoodTimesWithScar.

She didn’t even need to open her communicator to see what had happened. Because not even two seconds later, from the next building over, she hears a muffled, distant, “ SCAR!! ” And it’s only a matter of moments before the man himself appears back in their storage room, head high and looking thoroughly impressed with himself, and Cleo sighs deeply.

“How is that getting Ren?!”

“Oh hey guys! I just found Bdubs!” Scar replies cheerfully, as if thoroughly oblivious to what he’d just done, and Cleo sighs harder.

“I can see that! Where’s Ren?”

“Oh I have no idea, I got distracted.”

“You’ve been gone for less than a minute! How are you already distracted?!”

“Bdubs!” A voice calls from across the room and Cleo looks up. “Bro! You alright my dude?!”

“That’s it! Where is he?! Imma kill ‘em!”

Bdubs bursts into the room then, hair messy and eyes crazed, and looking every bit the picture perfect being of a rabid animal gone feral, and Cleo immediately leaps forward, blocking his path, and enveloping the man in her arms in the process .

“No! No! Bdubs, Bdubs calm!” She catches him around the arms, grasping at his shoulders as she does her best to hold him in place, and Bdubs squirms.

“Where is he?!” He yells again, writhing in her arms as he attempts to get to Scar just across the room, but she holds him fast.

“Bdubs! Bdubs, breathe! Breathe!” She soothes. “No more death, just take deep breaths.”

“Well he started it!” He exclaims in a shout, still hostile, and yet with just that tiniest undertone of a whine, like a child who’s been told no, crying and wailing and stamping its little feet as it protests such a cruel injustice, and Cleo immediately lowers her voice.

“I know, I know, but we’re in the middle of a breakthrough right now.” She says softly, stroking his arm soothingly, and Bdubs looks up at her. “Just take some deep breaths for me, ok? In and out. Just like that.” Bdubs takes a breath.

“…Ok.”

“You can kill Scar later, alright?” She continues.

“I can. Alright.” He replies determinedly, decidedly less hostile than before. Softer, and calmer.

“Deep breath in.”

He breathes in. “Alright, ok, I’m breathing Cleo.”

“And out.”

“Ok…”

“Just deep breaths, just like that. In with anger. Out with love.”

He takes one last breath and she can feel his shoulders relax, the man exhaling on a long sigh, and she breaths with him. “Ok…ok I’m good. I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good. Ok.”

“There we go.” She lets go of his arms. Ren blinks.

“Umm…what just happened?”

“Scar’s being Scar , is what’s happened.” She replies bitterly.

“I am very good at that.” Scar nods matter of factly from across the room.

“He’s being a menace to society is what he is!!”

“ Bdubs , Bdubs it’s alright .” She chides again. “ Deep breaths.”

“Right…I am calm.” He breathes, not at all particularly relaxed, and yet he makes no further attempt to move forward, and Cleo thought that was about as good as she was going to get. “I am calm .” He mutters through gritted teeth, and Cleo pats his arm encouragingly.

“Ren.” Joe interjects suddenly, calling their attention back to their previous task at hand, the man evidentially having found what he had been looking for as he joins them in their rag-tag group in the middle of their storage room. “Scar says he gave you a compass.” He continues. “Can I see it?”

“Oh! Sure dude! It’s just back in my room! Right this way!”

Ren leads them all back to the dormitory, the whole gaggle of them trailing after as they follow him back to his room, curiosity getting the better of them. The compass was exactly as Cleo had described. Against the wall at the back of his plot there was an old spruce desk, atop of which sat an open book and quill and a singular lantern propped off to the side. If she looked close enough she could almost make out the barest semblance of words scrawled among the pages. A sloppy, near indecipherable script of half smeared ink blots that covered the paper, and written directly at the top, in big, messy letters, she could make out a phrase.

‘Log Date: 7 15 2’

Above the desk there was a wall, adorning which were 3 basic frames, just as she had seen last night. And in the topmost frame, aligned directly with the centre of the desk, there was the compass. One, singular compass, old and rusted and flecked with a lime scaling, displayed above all else as if an unconscious symbolization of the role it was meant to play. Joe is silent for several long moments as he plucks the device from the wall, staring at its glass face intently as if it’s needle held all the secrets of the universe, and he absentmindedly brushes away at the flecks of limescale with the pad of his thumb.

“Cleo, can I use your crafting bench?” He asks after a moment, the remainder of their posse all staring blankly towards the man.

“Umm…sure?”

Joe approaches the table in the corner of her own plot, pulling 4 bits of iron from the depths of his pockets and arranging the ingots in a diamond shape upon its face. And then he holds out his hand; hovering it above the shape, a sort of red dust dropping itself between his fingertips and spilling over his palm like a cascade of sand, filling the centre of the diamond like a well and leaving a reddish residue upon his skin in its wake. He cups his hands around the formation then, enveloping the entirety of the construction in his arms before leaning in close, and then he blows. A steady stream of air that leaves his lips like a slow gust of wind, sending up clouds of a red powder that glisten like the sparks of a freshly stoked fire. From her current position they could have almost been coals, red hot and smouldering as if they still contained just the barest traces of life. And when he reaches forward again, bringing his hands together as if kneading at a soft dough, she thinks she can see the very dust begin to glow, flickering like a spark of electricity shot through the air, and lingering within the cloud like a sheet of lightning in a storm. Joe holds up the pristine form of a brand new compass,  and he smiles.

“Joe?” She asks after a moment, curiosity getting the better of her. “What you doing?”

“I need everyone to craft a compass.” He replies immediately. “Right now.”

Cleo blinks. “...Why?”

“I need to test my theory.”

“Which is what? ” She exclaims, exasperated. “Joe, what is going on?”

“What, don’t you trust me?” He grins. A grin that is not quite a smirk, and yet somehow manages to convey equal parts obnoxious mischief, and she raises an eyebrow.

“This is you we’re talking about, yeah?”

“…What have I ever done that wasn’t trustworthy?!”

“What have you ever— Joe .”

“ Whaaaat? ” He grins again. Innocently, frivolously. In a manner that suggests that he knows exactly what  he was doing, and Cleo crosses her arms stubbornly.

“Joe, I could fill a book— no, I could fill a lot of books with the things you’ve done in the last year alone .”

“I’m sure that I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” He states.

“And I’m really extra sure that you do .” She shoots back.

He smiles again, all traces of mischief gone now, and yet still just that tiniest smidgen of humour twinkling out of the corner of his eyes, and he speaks again. “Just trust me. I have a hunch, and if it’s what I think, you’ll see in a minute. But I first need everyone to craft a compass.”

They do as he asks, each of them stepping up to the crafting table and constructing an additional 4 compasses, before stepping back to look down at their own creations. Bdubs is the first to break the silence.

“Ok? And what exactly was the point of that?” He asks.

In lieu of a response, Joe instead directs his attention onto her, nodding his head in gesture as he raises a pointed, and yet mildly curious eyebrow.

“...Cleo?”

But Cleo wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she hadn’t looked up at all. Instead, her gaze remained locked on the face of her compass, as if transfixed by its needle. As if her mind itself could not begin to comprehend just what her eyes were truly seeing. “ ...Ren. ” She exclaims quietly.

“Yours too?”

“What?” Bdubs questions, looking back and forth between the two. “What’s wrong?”

Joe smiles. “It’s spinning, isn’t it.”

She angles the compass towards him, it’s needle spinning back and forth erratically as if it couldn’t decide on a direction, and her face a mask of disbelief. “Yeah, but, how-“

Joe holds up his own compass, the light glinting off of its glass face, it’s own needle pointing due North, and decidedly not spinning. He approaches the opposing doorframe then, taking another handful of redstone and trailing the dust in a straight line from the centre of the frame, before turning to look at the group once more.

“Bdubs, do me a favour and walk past the centre of the Monument.”

4 pairs of eyes turn to look at Bdubs, and he blinks. “Umm...ok?”

Bdubs does as he’s asked, walking forward until he has fully crossed the line of redstone on the floor, before turning back around, looking towards Joe as if awaiting further instructions. “…ok?” He says again.

“Did your compass move?” Joe prompts.

“Yeah?”

“Here. Try mine.” Joe tosses his own compass towards him and Bdubs catches it, throwing him a strange look. Joe nods towards the Monuments centre. “Try it.”

Bdubs shrugs, looking down at the face of the new compass before once again walking past the centre, and he stops.

“Well?” Joe asks expectantly. “Did it move?”

Bdubs stares at the compass face for a second longer before looking up at the man, a curious expression on his face. “...no.”

Joe grins. “Compasses normally point to the world spawn. But, in this case, we each spawned somewhere different. When we crafted one, it immediately pointed to where each of us started - our own spawn. They’re all different.”

“But…what about the ones we didn’t craft?” Asks Scar. “Where do those point?”

“Here.” Joe holds out his hand. “Let me see your compasses.”

He walks to the centre of the room, moving to sit cross legged on the floor and arranging each compass on the ground before him before selecting one.

“Ok, so if we envision this as a circle, this one was Bdubs, which we’ll call the centre. We’ll put that here.” He places the compass flat on the floor before selecting another. “This one was Scar, which is pointing there.” He points in a vaguely South Easterly direction, positioning this compass below the first and just slightly to the right. “I was to the North, and Ren and Cleo don’t count because they spawned in the End, so we’ll put them here.” He places two compasses to the side and another directly above the centre device. “Which leaves us with-“ he picks up the remaining 2 compasses, positioning one directly West, and another between Scar’s and his own in the North Eastern corner, and he smiles.

“ Oh my God. ” Cleo whispers, staring down at the arrangement before her and Joe only smiles wider.

“Remember how we were talking about needing a good place to start?” He plucks the final 2 compasses from their resting place, holding one up in each hand, and he grins. “I think we just got one heck of a starting point.”

Notes:

Deviating from vanilla minecraft JUST a bit. I know this is not at all how compasses work normally, but they do in this word for reasons and because I said so lol. They’ve got non-vanilla plug ins on Hermitcraft, I’m just adding this one 😅

Chapter 47: Recap

Notes:

Hello all! Welcome to the first ever “Distance Between Us” Hermitcraft Recap! I am KoraSonata, our writer is still me, and without further ado let’s get in to all of the events and mishaps that have occurred on the scattered Hermitcraft server this year!

(I’ll see myself out now)

This is not a proper chapter, but since it’s been almost 2 years since I started this and my update schedule is not the same as it once was, I figured people might appreciate a short recap of the important events that have happened so far.

Now before you all yell at me for taking so long, THERE IS A PROPER CHAPTER COMING OUT IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS, I PROMISE. The next chapter is finished, I am posting it as soon as this goes up, so there should only be about a half an hour delay or however long it takes me to format everything correctly again because it doesn’t like to keep my formatting for whatever reason.

Scar finds Bdubs almost immediately at an ocean Monument, suggesting that they stay there as Cartographer villagers will sell maps to the location. They remain in the spot for a few days, but Scar eventually has to leave to get supplies, leaving Bdubs alone to build a base.

Meanwhile, Cleo has spawned in the end, realizing that she will have to fight the dragon with nothing but her own 2 fists and the clothes on her back. Ren has spawned in an end city on one of the outer islands, raiding the structure for supplies before traveling back to the main island just in time for the pair of them to fight the dragon. Deducing that Joe must be in a Stronghold based off of a death to a batch of silverfish, the pair decide to search for him, using the eyes of ender to locate a vast majority of Strongholds, but not having any luck locating him.

Stress has started in a Bastion where she struggles to fight off the angry Piglins, eventually managing to escape the structure. She travels a fair distance from her starting point where she happens to come across Cub purely by accident, the man having escaped his own spawn in a Soul Sand Valley. The pair stick together, wrangling a couple of striders in order to cross a lava lake where they happen across a small island that has a suspicious trail of magma blocks leading from it. Deducing that another person must have been there, the two follow the magma trail, only it seems to stop in the middle of nowhere. Unbeknownst to them, in the same location, False finds herself stuck on the Nether roof, discovering that she can hear them, but they can’t hear her.

Scar takes a detour on his way back to the Monument, instead following a treasure map that he found right at the start in the hopes of procuring a heart of the sea with the intent of making a conduit. Meanwhile, Bdubs is stuck with a severely limited block pallet, using the shards off the guardians to construct the beginnings of a prismarine greenhouse castle. However, the lack of sleep and increasing number of screeching phantoms at night are slowly beginning to drive him crazy.

Ren and Cleo stumble across a desert village in their search for Joe where Cleo discovers a Cartographer with the map trade for an Ocean Monument. Remembering that Bdubs had been at one of the structures, they briefly forego their search for Joe, choosing instead to pursue the map in a search for Bdubs.

Continuing on in the direction of the magma trail, Cub and Stress eventually find land, discovering a strider with a saddle, but no rider upon the shore. They continue along the coast, where they are eventually stopped by Xisuma, the man having taken up residence in one of the crimson fungal trees for safety after having come across a large migration of hostile hoglins. Not being able to take on the large pack for fear of death, even with their combined strengths, the three set up a small Nether camp in the crimson forest where they decide what to do next. Meanwhile, Doc finds his own starting location to be relatively disappointing.

Cleo and Ren find the Ocean Monument, reuniting with Scar and Bdubs and setting their spawn before leaving soon after to continue their search for Joe. Finding themselves in need of a significant quantity of glass, Bdubs and Scar take to the Nether in the hopes of stumbling across Cleo and Ren’s desert through trial and error.

Elsewhere on the map, TFC and Grian have spawned in the same mountain range; above and below ground respectively, each with their own set of difficulties. The two continue to wander, struggling to navigate the rough terrain, but both having yet to find the other or even yet to realize that they are not alone in the biome.

Not wanting to travel the expanse of lava again, the Nether trio set up a small village community on the edge of their crimson forest. Using the Diamond pick that Stress has salvaged from her Bastion,  Stress is sent to tunnel beneath the lava lake in order to gather a slew of supplies for a gold farm while Xisuma wrangles the mobs in position and Cub spawn proofs the area.

Back in the Overworld, Cleo and Ren eventually manage to find Joe in the library of a Stronghold, the man having been patiently waiting for their arrival, and the three all make their way back to the Monument to reconvene with the others.

On the other side of the map, Grian and TFC have finally managed to convene, the two meeting just on the edge of the mountains where they stumble upon Impulse in a near decimated taiga hills village, the man having managed to trap himself inside one of the houses after apparently having angered every iron golum in a 100 kilometre radius. At the same time, elsewhere on the map, Etho is facing unknown difficulties of his own, but ostensibly manages to escape. Tango has not been so lucky.

Back in the crimson forest, the Nether trio have begun bartering with the Piglins in exchange for obsidian, some with more success than others. However, along the way they notice the zombie pigmen acting strange. Elsewhere in the Nether, Beef has been struggling to navigate through a Basalt Delta when he notices the death messages of the Nether trio, linking their correspondence. Finding himself unable to die due to a poorly timed enchanted apple, he is left with only one way of communicating his location.

Elsewhere, Jevin has spawned inside of a near- sealed skeleton dungeon, stuck in a death loop as he finds he is unable to break the spawner before more mobs flow out of it. He manages to escape purely by chance when a creeper spots him through a singular chink in the wall and explodes, allowing him to escape, but at a cost. In the process of fleeing, he plows straight into Zedaph, his friend similarity fleeing after having acquired some problems of his own - the Warden.

Finally returning to home base, Cleo, Ren, and now Joe start to settle in, with Joe and Cleo beginning to discuss the nature of their true purpose on this world. Joe, deciding to organize some community chests, takes over the main floor of one of the Monument spires as a storage room. However, upon sorting through some materials, he discovers a compass that he had pillaged from his stronghold stored away within one of the chests and notices something strange. After a brief set of testing, he deduces that each naturally spawned compass will point to the spawn of a unique Hermit. Having 2 in their current possession, both he, Cleo, Scar, and Ren pair off and split up to follow this new lead, once again leaving Bdubs behind to work on the base.

 

Other notable events:

•Doc spawned in a Sunflower Plains and is ostensibly collecting every sunflower from the biome for unknown purposes 

•It is revealed that False, Mumbo, and Wels are the only 3 who do not have any record of deaths or achievements.

•Hypno starts off repeatedly dying to lava

•Tango has died exclusively from falling and phantoms 

•Etho started off with very similar deaths to Tango

•Zedaph is struck by the Warden and hears a familiar voice call to him

—

CONFIRMED SPAWNS

1. Bdubs - Ocean Monument
2. Cleo - End Spawn Chamber (End)
3. Xisuma - Lava lake (Nether)
4. Scar - Cold Ocean
5. Stress - Bastion (Nether)
6. Joe - Stronghold
7. Cub - Soul Sand Valley (Nether)
8. Ren - End city (End)
9. Grian - Mineshaft
10. False - Nether roof (Nether)
11. Impulse - Village
12. TFC - Mountains
13. Zedaph - Deep Dark
14. Doc - sunflower plains
15. Beef - Basalt Delta (Nether)
16. IJevin - Skeleton spawner

 

Chapter 48: Welsknight

Notes:

This chapter is a little bit different than the others. Thus far I’ve kind of been sticking to a strictly vanilla minecraft style, but I’ve kind of gone in a bit of a different direction with Wels, which is why I am very tentatively posting this chapter 😅 To the people that I know enjoy the vanilla minecraft aspect of the story, I promise Wels is the only person I’ve done this with and everyone else will have a normal spawn, I personally just found this more fun to write and I was a lot happier with his storyline in this fashion than what I had planned originally

In the beginning, there was darkness. Always darkness. It was nothing that any of them had ever been particularly worried about. After all, it always started this way. In the beginning, there was the dark, and the world was without form and void, and the darkness was upon the face of the deep.

And then there was light.

This is the formula that has always been involved in the creation of any new world. And from the light, the world was given form. A base form, and empty. A blank slate so that Gods might mould the universe in their image, with the universe their playground, and the world as their putty.

Such was the progression of creation.

It was for this reason that the darkness does not frighten him now, for the universe always started in darkness. The world always started with darkness. The emptiness made no difference to him at all, for he knew it was not what the world was now, but what it would become. After all, even the greatest of paintings all started with a blank canvas. The dark now did not represent the nothingness that he appears to see, but was more symbolic in a way. For the world always started in darkness, which to him, should have meant but one thing.

The beginning.

And then he sees the light. The light of a new world ready for exploration. He was floating. Weightless. Drifting. Soaring through the clouds like an eagle on the wind. And then he is no longer floating. He was flying . High in the sky over blue ocean waters, with waves that glint in the sunlight like a crystal chalice. It was a wonderful feeling. The smell of the sea, the wind in his hair. He had never felt more alive.

And then he sees it.

There was something falling from the sky. A long streak of light, like a shooting star entering orbit. He watches it fall, tracing its movements through the air as it falls down, down, until eventually he sees it crash, plummeting towards the waters below and colliding with a mighty splash, and then it is swallowed by the ocean.

He flys down towards the surface, following the path of the fallen object and hovering before the once quiet waters. The water now looked marred, choppy. He can still see the rippled ringlets from where the object had made impact, but whatever it was must have been sunk deep underwater, for he could not see any other trace of it.

But then, maybe he could.

He had only been there a moment before he noticed something strange about the water. The ripples had not dispersed. In fact, they remained just as steady as ever, flowing within a perfect circle and pulsing like a heartbeat. At the time he thought it had to be the oddest sort of phenomenon that he had ever witnessed, for what sort of act could make the water pulse like that?

It only he could have known then how normal it would have appeared compared to what he would witness next.

He reaches a hand forward, a curiosity really. He wanted to see if it would disrupt the pulse if he were to touch the surface, and it does. Only, not in the way that he had originally anticipated.

He had expected the pulse to go double-time, merely adding another ripple to the circle that would merely continue to reflect that continuous pulse, but that is not what he finds. In fact, it is just the opposite. Where he had expected the pulse to speed up, it instead slows down, a single ripple forming around his extended finger, spreading out much wider than the original, and then the waters go quiet.

There is silence for several long moments. For several long moments there is calm, and then—

WHOOOOOOSH!!

A whirlwind forms in the waters, his hand caught in the cross stream, and he is dragged down. Pulled down into the depths of ocean like the strongest current he had ever experienced. He quickly holds his breath, taking in a giant gulp of air before he is completely submerged in a wall of water. He quickly realizes that this had been unnecessary, as right before his eyes the water turns into stars, and he cannot help but to gasp as the entire ocean before him seamlessly morphs into the most beautiful starry night sky.

And then he was in space. Floating amongst the stars like an astronaut cut from his tether. The sky was black, and yet he can see so many colours swirling before him, like the light of all of the galaxies had gathered there at the heart of the universe.

He continues deeper into the cosmos, pulled further and further as if stuck within a great gravitational force. He didn’t know where the force was taking him, but he doesn’t struggle against it’s hold. The thought doesn’t even particularly cross his mind as he soars through the endless galaxies of dazzling stars, bright, and beautiful, and so full of life.

It is some time before he reaches his inevitable destination. A relatively clear patch of space devoid of most other light, but it is here where he discovers what he had inevitably journeyed to find - an object he recognizes instantly as the same entity that he had seen fall from the sky upon his arrival, now floating just mere inches away.

It was a Moravian star. 25 points with long spindly arms, each like a diamond shard of crystal. And that wasn’t all. There were several floating shards as well, orbiting the star like planets to the sun. And then there, out of the corner of his eye, he sees something. A sort of shimmer that glints in the light, and his eyes follow it, drawn to the strange object like a moth to the flame, and he finds his gaze lands upon something floating just to his left.

It was a cylindrical shard of ostensibly solid glass. Something that could have almost been an arm broken from a chunk of white quarts except for one thing. The shard was perfectly clear. There was not a single spec of colour throughout the entire crystal, save whatever one could see through it, which was mostly space at this point. He had never seen a solid piece of crystal look so smooth, so clear , like a glass formed by the heavens themself that was made to be no less than the utter perfection of the universe.

He reaches forth and plucks it from the sky, the shard growling a brilliant gold as he holds it between his fingertips. And what’s more, he finds the glass to be slightly warm. Not hot, as the glowing light might have suggested, but simply warm, comforting. Like he was being hugged from the inside, and as he looks back at the glowing ball of light in the palm of his hand, he can’t help but feel a sense of rightness about the notion. Like it was meant to be there, and he rolls the Crystal between his fingertips.

It was then that he notices the crystals end, and he discovers that it is not, in fact, as perfect as he had originally described. It’s tip looked like it was broken. Like it had been snapped off at its end and detached from its body, and that was when he looks back at the original star. 25 points, he had originally counted, but only now does he see a noticeable gap right at the top. Like a shard had once been there and had since been snapped off, leaving the body incomplete with the loss of the limb, and he looks back at the piece of glass still held between his fingertips.

26 shards.

He had just reached out to grab the object when something absolutely incredible happens. He had merely brushed one of the floating bits of crystal with his hand, an inevitable act given he had not particularly payed them much attention in his original intent. But just then, something had happened that insured that they would not be ignored again.

Upon impact, the shard had let out the most dazzling burst of light , shooting right out of the top of the crystal like the tail of a bottle rocket before exploding gloriously before him like a form of soundless firework. There was no noise. No force nor heat nor echoing boom as was the typical association one often made with such an explosion. In fact, quite to the contrary, whatever noise he had heard was in fact nothing more than the sound of a quiet, gentle, poof . Like a gentle burst of sand underwater, leaving each individual grain to tumble down in a reckless cascade, like a curtain of silt as each pebble falls, floating gracefully down to where they would eventually come to rest against the ocean floor.

Only, they don’t settle there.

They don’t really settle anywhere . Instead, the light hangs in the air, hovering there before him as if suspended underwater, and as he watches closely he sees that same light begin to move. Shimmering like a sand flecked with gold before breaking off into shoots like long ribbons of light, and as he watches on, he sees those ribbons begin to twist. Looping and twining together until they have created a solid image, and as he looks out at the new depiction before him, he finds he is now faced with an impression of petals, like the form of a single flower plucked from the likes of a rose.

A singular rose made out of stardust.

He thought it was one of the most beautiful sights that he had ever seen. A single flower bathed in gold. It almost looked like it was alive . Each individual grain of sand shaking ferociously within the image, flowing along the edges of the petals like an energy and suspended there as if held together by some great magnetic force. It almost looked like it was smouldering . Producing a dull sort of glow like the hot coals of a fire. And it gets brighter. And brighter . Becoming so bright in fact until the coals themselves appear to reignite, setting the entire flower ablaze with a fire so spectacular that he cannot help but marvel at the spectacle before him.

And then, just as quickly, the flames engulf it, the rose melting away as it burns until it is nothing more than a few wispy sparks of flame. And as the flower fades, so does the fire, curling inwards upon itself as it shrivels and dies, and then with a final puff of a golden stardust, the image was gone.

For a moment he simply stands there. For but a moment he simply stares at the spot where the flower had been with a sort of starstruck awe, unable to wrap his mind around just what it was that he had seen.

What was that?

He looks back at the star. It had remained exactly where it was, hovering there as if completely unfazed by the previous commotion. He glances back at the now lacklustre-seeming spot in the sky before him; dark, and silent, and now decidedly empty.

Had it all really happened? Had he really seen what he thought he’d seen? It had all seemed so extravagant. So magical , and yet the sky now, by comparison, appeared almost untouched. Unmoved . And it wasn’t as if he had expected the foundations of the earth to shake, or a rift to tear a hole into the fabric of reality, or the very sky itself to become moved into changing its colour, but he had expected something . Anything . But no, there was simply nothing .

The monotony of it all is enough to give him pause, make him question, and he needs to see it again. He wants to see it again. If not to prove his sanity but then to simply gaze upon such idyllic mystique, and so he reaches forward. An instinct really. Reaching his hand towards the object so that he may once again touch the celestial body.

He stretches his finger towards another floating bit of crystal; he counted 7 in all, each orbiting 3 separate planes around the star. By contrast there were 7 darkened shards attached to the main body, each dull, and clear, and without light. It was like the phantom shards had been plucked straight from the body, separated and detached, and yet not quite severed completely. Like an astral projection of their former selves. Like they had been torn away from the star and yet had found themselves unable to leave its orbit. Sucked back down by the force of its own gravity, like even they knew they could never truly be separated.

The top circle orbiting the star consisted of 2 shards directly opposite one another, bobbling just slightly out of synch. The bottom ring contained 4, positioned directly proportionate to the top, although not at all evenly spaced amongst each other. And there was a ring below that too, much smaller in size, one that contained only a single Crystal that orbited the bottom-most point. This is the Crystal for which he reaches. One singular crystal, isolated from the rest. Still a part of the larger star, and yet distinctly on its own plane of orbit.

The tip of his finger taps the shard, that same light shooting right out of the top as it makes contact, and he smiles. He had expected to see the image of the rose again, but he finds he is pleasantly surprised. Instead, the light shoots downward, arching back towards the sky, and as it reaches its peak, the light explodes, engulfing the cosmos like a set of gilded wings, and then there, amongst the expanse of stardust, was the majestic form of a golden eagle.

The creature takes off into a nose dive, flying full speed towards the floor, and that was when something absolutely incredible happened. Upon impact, the bird had vanished. Exploding gloriously in a wave of gold like the most spectacular cannon ball, and then from that wave, the bird emerged again. With wings like a liquid gold it shoots into the air, and then right on its tail, a second appears. Two eagles bursting forth as if they had just come out of the sea.

They fly together in tandem, each perfectly mirroring the other like the skilled act of an ice dancer. And then, when they are high enough, they split off. Flying away from each other several paces before making an about face, each turning to face the other like a gun slinger ready for a duel, and then there is a moment. The barest fraction of an instant where neither bird moves, each staring down their opponent in a decisive manner before they once again move in tandem, shooting across the sky like the picture of a comet on fire, and exploding gloriously as each collides head on with the other.

For a while he watches them fight. For a while he watches the magnificence of the mighty eagles duel as they ram into each other with the power of a supernova, for even he cannot help but to stare, to marvel , at such a spectacle before him. There was nothing calculated about their movements. There was no strategy, or consideration, or reservations about the way that they fought. To them it was like nothing else existed. Such focus. Such pain . He couldn’t possibly imagine what either must have been thinking, because it was as if each had become completely consumed. They fought with every fibre of their beings, using their own bodies as weapons in a war with no clear victor, where he imagined that they would continue to fight until they could fight no more. Until each would fall from the sky, dropping dead from exhaustion, and even then they would fight still, for their spirits would surly take up arms and continue their duel once more.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. It was captivating. This was no longer a simple fight between adversaries. This was the stuff legends were made of. He had never seen something so impressive in all his life. He could have watched them fight for hours, and indeed he might have, for he could not say for how long it was that he stood there. But then, just like the last time, the image fades away. The eagles make one last valiant hit, sending up a show of sparks like clashing blades of steel, there is one final, magnificent explosion, and then they too disappear.

He doesn’t hesitate to reach out again this time, the image barely faded from his vision before he is already reaching for more. It is a shard attached to the main body for which he seeks to claim this time, an almost childlike sort of giggle bubbling against his throat as the light once again shoots from its tip and curls around his body like an excited dog. He quickly realizes that this is exactly what it is. A dog . A large and wispy looking wolf, to be exact. It bounds into the sky, a lone wolf amongst the cosmos, throwing back its giant head in a silent howl before disappearing amongst the stars.

He touches another shard. And another. And another. Each time he finds the image is different from the last. A single doe drinks from a river of sand. A golden knight unsheathes a magnificent sword that shatters in the face of its foe. A single feather falls from the wing of a canary. The hands of a pocket watch remain idle as he sees the cogs churn from within. The figure of an hourglass ticks away as it sinks underwater. And on the visions continue. One after the next as he reaches again and again, unable to stop himself in his need for more.

He had just reached forward again when suddenly—

ZAP!

He pulls his hand away sharply. The Crystal was burning . It had felt hot to the touch, like he had just grabbed the nose end of a burning poker and had seared the skin of his fingertips. He looks back down at the star. The crystal he had grabbed was cracked. A single, spider-like vein that marred its glassy surface like a glowing scar. The light from this particular crystal almost seemed brighter than the rest. Hotter. As if it was expunging every last bit of its energy to prevent its own submission. As if the single shard was a star in itself. An old and massive star, one that has exhausted every bit of its resources. One that has already fused every element within its core until it could fuse no more. A white-hot, burning star, sat upon the edge of destruction, perhaps moments away from its own collapse.

And then there, just for a moment, he saw something. Not in a physical sense, as before, but rather an indiscriminate image seemed to appear in his mind. Just the barest fragment of a flash, hardly there for even a fraction of a second, and yet it is something that sticks out so thoroughly in his mind that every image that he had just seen might as well have been painted on a black canvas using corresponding shades of grey.

The shard had done nothing. It had not sprouted ribbons of light nor shown him visions bathed in a liquid gold like the others. And yet, he somehow knows this image to be connected. There was nothing there. Physically, the sky had remained dark, as it was now. Physically , it had showed him absolutely  nothing , and yet he had seen —

He stops. This had gone on for long enough. Until this point he had gotten nothing but fragments, but he needed answers, and in order to get his answers, he was going to need to see the whole picture. It is this thought alone which prompts him into doing what he does next. An act which, quite frankly, might have seemed unwise given what he had just experienced, and yet it is for this same reason that he knows it must be done. And with only a moments hesitation, he turns his sights back on the celestial body, reaching out his entire hand and grasping the whole star between his fingertips.

And he takes off like a rocket across the sky. Like a shooting star flying across the cosmos, and he was the flaming tail. He couldn’t let go. It was like his hand had become adhered to the object it was holding, and to be honest, he was grateful for that. He was traveling so fast that if his fingers were to slip he was sure he would take off sprawling, ending up in the next neighbouring galaxy.

The star plunges him through that same wall of water as before, dragging him down into their depths of blue. He thought he would surly come out the other side, taking him back to where he had started, but to the contrary, the water almost seemed to be getting deeper . And as he is dragged further and further, he began to notice something odd about the star. It was no longer a star, but an hourglass , his hand clasped tightly around its middle point like a handle, or perhaps a lead like the reigns of a horse.

The hourglass underwater….

And as he gets further on, the hourglass began to crack, undoubtedly surrendering under the crushing weight of his own grasp, and then in one blinding moment, it shatters, sending shards of glass sprawling and upheavals of golden sand scattered to the wind.

He reaches out on instinct, as if he could somehow catch the grains in his hand and prevent their separation, only to be surprised when he finds the grains reaching back . Like the images he had seen before, he finds the sand had likewise formed the picture of a single hand, reaching out towards him as if begging for help. And as if that wasn’t enough, he is only shocked further into submission when he finds that it actually grabs him . Grasping him around the wrist with a vice like grip and doesn’t let go, and that’s when it happens. The hand begins to change . The stardust appeared to melt away, replacing sand with flesh, starting at the fingertips and spreading out across the palm until he finds he is now grasping something tangible. Something real . A hand and then an arm, the white sleeve of a shirt, a shaggy mess of brown hair. The body slowly materializes until it has created an entire form, and that’s when something seems to click into place in his mind.

It’s not until he recognizes the figure that he feels it start to slip. The more it turns to flesh, the more he finds it’s grip begins to slacken. Further and further until he finds the appendage merely lays limp in his grasp. He tries to hold on tighter, but it’s no use. The body was heavy now. Burdensome under the crushing weight of the water dragging him down, and try as he might, he cannot lift it. Can no longer so much as grasp it, and it slips. The hand sliding from his own, and then it falls. Down, down to the deep below of the depths of ocean, and he screams. Reaching his hand forth and letting out an incessant cry like a guttural wail. He had meant the shout to be a name, but the sound merely comes out garbled and warped, a string of bubbles erupting from his mouth as his throat is filled with a churning water.

His hand flies to his neck upon instinct, his body coughing reflexively; an act which only proves to make his situation worse as more water is inevitably swallowed up into his lungs. He can see the body below him writhing. Convulsing undoubtedly with its own lack of oxygen, and he reaches out once more. Trying against all odds to bring himself closer, but it’s so far. He would never make it in time, but still he stretches father. Reaching into the distance between them, but it’s no use. It’s even further away now, continuing to sink deeper and deeper at a rate much faster than he, and he sputters again. Coughing out masses of bubbles that obstruct his view, and he can’t anymore. The water is too much for his lungs. He claps a hand over his mouth, as if this will somehow help his situation, but he was done. He reaches through the water again; a last ditch effort. The last thing he sees is a mass of bubbles and the barest thatches of a straggled brown hair.

Ping!

His eyes fly open.

Bdubs.

—

Ping!

He is awoken abruptly by the sound of his communicator, his eyes flying open to meet a dark ceiling above him. He was in a room; a fairly sizeable one at that. One with high ceilings and wooden walls, and a dust that hangs in the air like a cloud, catching in the sunlight like flecks underwater.

It takes him a moment to orient himself to his surroundings. It takes even longer for him to wrap his mind around what it was that had just happened.

Water . He had remembered water . There had been struggling. Drowning. But above all, he had remembered light . There had been a star. A star that…wasn’t a star? An hourglass, a hand, and then—

He sits bolt upright. An act which utilizes every single one of his stomach muscles to accomplish. A task which, admittedly, uses far more energy than should have been strictly necessary, if he were to be thinking clearly, but he’s not, and so the abnormality merely slides under his radar.

Bdubs.

He fumbles over his armour, patting down the fitted form of his titanium chestplate likewise in a manner that suggests his still half conscious mind - as if he had expected to find, or indeed had ever even possessed , anything there other than armour , but he gets there eventually. Feeling his way down until he finds the holster at his waist, and extracting his communicator from it’s attached pocket.

Only, it’s first message does absolutely nothing to alleviate his still lingering anxiety.

Bdubs had drowned.

That was a death message that could not have been coincidental.

He had already known that. Had seen with his own eyes. He’d watched him drown. But then…had he really? If he had truly seen , why hadn’t he drowned too? If he had truly been there , how was it that Bdubs had died, and he had somehow come to be here ?

And where was here?

He looks up again, looking out at the walls, the ceiling. Only now realizing that he recognizes the materials they are made of.

It was dark oak. Nothing overly difficult to collect, provided one already knew where it was obtained. But it’s usage here. It seemed excessive. Where most typically used it’s rich colouring as a strong form of accent, it’s composition here was notably domineering. Overbearing. Not merely a simple feature or addition added as a means of contrast, but rather as if the wood itself was the reigning constitution.

He stands from his bed. A bed which…wasn’t really a bed. Something that lacked both mattress and frame, and instead more-so resembled that of a frameless mass of wool piled upon the floor, and piled in heaps of multicoloured blankets that looked only like a sad attempt at a mimicry.

His balance feels off as he shuffles towards the nearest window, an observation that he merely dismisses as a side effect of his current disorientation. He had just woken up, it was normal for people to still be a bit groggy. And hey, if he notices his feet maybe feel a little bit off as he trudges forward, it was probably just his armoured boots fastened just a little too tightly.

The window only proves his suspicions further, for through the glass he finds the lush green of a dark oak forest, stretching as far as the eye can see. Which, to him, served its single purpose, as it told him precisely one thing.

Wels was in a Mansion.

Ping!

He looks at his communicator as it goes off once more.

Hypnotized tried to swim in lava.

This message, despite its contents, brings him more comfort than it realistically should, and he finds himself breathing almost a sigh of relief. They were in the game . Just in the game.

The next notification does not bring him nearly as much comfort.

Ping!

Tango fell from a high place.

Tango.

An image rushes back to him then. An image so clear he might as well have been seeing the events transpire before him. And an image which, confusingly, does not appear to match the death message in question.

It didn’t make sense. That wasn’t what had happened at all. Tango hadn’t fallen. He could picture it as clear as day, he had seen—

He shakes his head. It hadn’t really happened. Bdubs had merely been coincidental, he decided. It just so happened that he had been drowning in his dreams, and then he just so happened to have actually  drown when he had woken up. This was the game now, and this was their reality. He hadn’t really seen Bdubs. He hadn’t really seen Tango. Everything that had transpired before this point had all just been but a massive dream.

Ping!

BdoubleO100 drowned whilst trying to escape Elder Guardian.

There . He tells himself. You see? Bdubs is just at an Ocean Monument, that’s why he drown. Perfectly logical explanation.

He shakes his head. Right, enough of that. Let’s get down to business.

He peaks his head outside the door of the bedroom. There, he found an empty hallway; long and wide, with high arching pillars and birch floors, and red carpet runners that spanned the entire length of the hallway. He couldn’t help but wonder upon the thematic direction that had gone into the decision that had made the floorboards birch. Such a light colour in a construction otherwise dominated by dark. Birch, often used to symbolize growth, rebirth, and yet used in a creation that is biologically designed to be trodden upon, scuffed over, covered up. Used anywhere else it might have stood out. Walls. Ceiling. Furniture. Anywhere else might have served as light to the darkness, but here it only seemed to accentuate it.

He walks down the hall, briskly but carefully, the giant passage lit only by the light of the rustic torches upon the wall. He passes several similarly empty rooms. The entrance to a darkened library, which he wasn’t even going to attempt to navigate right now. A small, dimly lit room that contained what looked to be a small garden, with a single table and chair sat in the corner, and with juvenile crops that had only barely started to sprout. There was a dark, but cozy looking bedroom, with a single bed, a small bonsai tree, and a stone fireplace that sat cold, and empty, and unlit. But none of these rooms were particularly worth anything of note.

There is , however, a room he sees that makes him pause upon his journey.

It was a dark, long room with 6 dark oak archways of rustic logs, and at its end: a single chest sat perched upon the floor.

A single chest and nothing else.

Now, there is precisely one outcome that faces most people when presented with a single unguarded and unopened chest in an otherwise empty looking room. The chest was going to be opened . Wels was not immune to the lure of this prospected loot, and without another occupant in sight, the decision was almost too easy for him, and with very little thought towards the consequences of this action, he swiftly strides across the room towards the chest and reaches for its lid.

Only, the outcome is somewhat different than what he had originally had in mind.

His hand passes right through . Instead of opening the chest, as was his intention, his hand had seemed to phase right through the wood like it didn’t even exist at all.

…What?

He reaches forward again, but to the same result. His fingers merely slip through the cracks like a ghost unable to interact with the living world and he blinks, staring down at the chest before him and waving his hand through the object like the image of a hologram.

Are you…not really here?

He walks around the chest several times just to be sure, but it didn’t look like it was a phantom object. Was it spawn protected, maybe? But no, this was different. Spawn protection merely prevented the act of disturbance, meaning he shouldn’t have been able to break, or build, or otherwise disturb any objects under its protection. But this went beyond simple disturbance. A protected chest should have acted as if it was merely locked, thus leaving itself unable to be opened, but that is not the occurrence that he finds here. It wasn’t acting like it was locked, it was acting as if it didn’t even exist at all.

It had to be a glitch. He could think of no other plausible explanation. In fact, he has just convinced himself of this fact when something happens that makes him reconsider his stance on the matter.

He had just turned to leave the room and try his luck elsewhere when he is suddenly brought face to face with just about the last thing that he wanted to see right now. Something that gives his poor little heart just about the biggest jump scare of its life, and something that would unknowingly alter the entire parameters of the game he was about the play. And none the wiser he turns, staring right into the face of the Vindicator, the creature charging towards him, and then—

And then he recoils sharply.

It was like the worst sort of chill that he had ever experienced. A full body endeavour, one that he can feel all the way into the deepest pits of his stomach and then some, stretching out across his abdomen like a creeping wildfire, and with a sensation that makes even each individual organ appear to shake ferociously within him. It was like a piece of his soul had just left his body. As if the spirit were a tangible thing, capable of being grasped and stretched and yet still not quite detached , holding on by whatever microscopic strand of thread that it could and being pulled right to its very limits before snapping back to him like an elastic band stretched too far.

It had walked right through him . Sauntered about like it was nothing, as if his physical body were nothing more than a mere puff of smoke in the air, and carried on as if completely unbothered by the whole affair.

It was like it hadn’t even noticed him at all.

For a moment he does nothing. For but a moment he simply stands there in shock, because how do you realistically react when something walks right through you? What is the appropriate response when presented with such? Because it was a feat that was impossible. Not even merely improbable, but an act of which that was completely and utterly inconceivable .

And then he thinks of the chest. He hadn’t been able to touch it , he realizes. He had described it as if it was something that wasn’t even there, but then…

He looks back towards the vindicator, the creature now stood with its back to him over by the wall. And then he walks towards it. A slow, purposeful stride of deadly silent steps that he can’t even feel , he realizes, and he reaches out a hand towards it. A grasp which doesn’t land its mark, phasing through the creature like a hologram and leaving his hand with a lingering tingle like the phantom touch of a limb that’s not really there, and he blinks.

No. Not a phantom, he realizes. 

A Spectator.

… am… I…? Not really here??

It had to be a glitch. He was sure that was the only explanation. Because how else would you explain such a phenomena? And yet there is something about that feeling that lingers with him. Something cold like a dampness that’s settled into his bones like a lingering shock, and he has to be sure. Needs to be absolutely certain , because there’s something there that he recognizes. Something in that feeling that he knows , and he fears, and had it been any time else it might not have mattered. Had it been any other circumstance, he might not have cared. But here on this world, with this set of rules, there was but one thing of which that feeling wrought.

Dread .

He takes off at a sprint down the hall, tearing through the Mansion like a runner on steroids. He can’t even hear his own footsteps . Does not feel the clunk of his footfalls against the floor nor the wind rushing past his face. In fact, it felt like he wasn’t even running at all, but rather gliding like a skater over ice.

He stops only when he reaches the top of the grand staircase, a giant vindicator face of a banner taking up the entire wall space, and he looks down. There were at least 4 vindicators at the bottom that he could see, trapped below the staircase 3 floors down, and he steps up to the edge. If he was right, this was going to significantly change the entire game that he was about to play. And if he was wrong? Well. Then this was about to hurt like hell. And with only minor reservations about what he was about to do, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and he steps off the edge.

Chapter 49: Etho

Notes:

Good lord, I live. This took WAY too long to write, I’m so sorry. I AM still working on this story I promise, I just get bored with certain chapters and work on other ones instead to keep myself entertained. I think I’ve written like all of False’s chapter and like 99% of Tango’s just from procrastinating this chapter specifically, so I guess like good news is there will be less of a wait when those specific chapters are ready to come out? Anyway.

It feels odd to tag this this late in the game but I am tagging this specific chapter as “Real Person Fic” for REFERENCE PURPOSES ONLY. There is like ONE sentence in this that maybe ELUDES to RPF, it is not explicit and CAN in fact be interpreted otherwise, but I am tagging this here just in case.

Also I had no idea what to write for the chapter beyond like a very vague idea of how I wanted it to progress and I kind of just went off on a bit of a tangent, so apparently there is LORE now so have fun with some Hermit lore

Skyblock, at its core, is the ultimate challenge of resource management.

He remembered this quote well; a rather famous passage, once spoken by a man of whom he had often held in esteem, and one of which he had reputed of the greatest respects.

You spawn on a tiny island in an empty universe. All you have is a tree, some supplies, and some dirt to stand on. You have to treasure every dirt block, because if one falls into the void, there’s no way to replace it. And as you carefully navigate your absurd circumstance, you gain a new appreciation for the few things you have, as you meticulously use them to their fullest effect.  ~Technoblade, 2020

It was the first thing that had popped into his mind as he’d stared across the edge of his floating island. Or rather pair of islands, was likely a more apt description. There was two of them there, one just slightly higher than the other, and a running jumps leap of distance between them. A rather empty expanse, he’d found, with nothing but a spit of grass and rock floating several thousand feet in the air, and not a singular tree in sight.

The Shattered Savanah . With this too he was well familiar. He had lived there once, a time not so long ago. He remembered well the layered mountains of jagged peaks. Spectacular waterfalls which overflowed spacious plateaus. The shattered expanse of floating islands, suspended over clouds, like the scattered remains of a terrain left behind from a long broken world.

The Shattered Savanah was what one might have called a double edged sword, for there were those who might have called it beautiful. Fantastical . But then, it was also deadly. As he knew quite well, the Shattered Savanah was a wolf disguised as a sheep. Likened to the angler fish which captivated its prey with allure, drawing them closer and closer until eventually they were devoured whole. The Shattered Savanah was a beast, the jagged mountains it’s jaws, and one little misstep would send you plummeting straight down its massive throat towards its stomach.

It felt like yesterday that he’d lived here. Well, not here , but rather there , he supposed, if he were speaking relatively. He could still picture his own mountain, the house he had shared, the little village homes carved right into the rock of the cliff face. He remembered training his bees to dance on the terrace, the death trap that was his pitiful excuse of a stables he’d made for his horse, which Iskall had hated. And he remembered the wooden signs they had pinned to the wall to communicate, like little love notes on the refrigerator; a friendly record of their passing correspondence.

And yet, at the same time, it felt as if a lifetime had passed. And really, he supposed, it might as well have. Time, for them, was…different. At least here. On these worlds. In a distant galaxy, far far away, one would find a small planet. A relatively ordinary spit of rock in the grande scheme of things, and yet, in its home galaxy, it was considered a world unlike any other.

It was a planet of many names. There were those who called it Terra. Others, had named it Gaia. But there was a common name that was generally used by all. Earth . And to the Hermits, this was their place of origin.

They’d had different names there. Different lives. Once, long ago, they might have even had families. But that was a long time ago. For one reason or another, they had all come to be here. Together. Here in this equally distant galaxy on this equally common spit of rock, one that was really not so different in the grande scheme of things. It possessed much the same things. Trees. Plants. Animals. Water. It might not have possessed an equal variance of each; there were plenty of things that existed on Earth that were so far unique. But then, the same could be said for these planets as well. There were creatures here that on Earth only existed in myth. Plants grew that they had never seen before. Their gravity was different here, and each planet they visited possessed a completely unique set of stars that created constellations most would have never seen before.

But above all, the greatest difference was that of time itself. As they had noted, time was different here. Again, not particularly surprising. These planets orbited different stars; were part of different galaxies. Different galaxies moved in different directions relative to their own, accelerating and decelerating depending on distance and gravity. It was only natural that time should in fact fluctuate between them. If 5 days here might have only been an hour on Earth, a single year was almost half a lifetime for them.

In this sense, he supposed it had been like a lifetime since he’d lived with Iskall in his own Savanah, and in some senses, he felt that. But in others, you never really did forget your home. Well, maybe not home . It didn’t feel right to describe every house they had ever lived as a home. Home, he had discovered, was a relative term. It was not stationary, for they moved much too frequently for that. Rather they were always home, so long as they were together. But their houses still held a special sentiment in their hearts. Their castles and cabins, their monuments and ruins. They might not have been home , but they were still theirs . Something they had created with their own hands. Something that, for a time, had provided them with comfort, and stability, and dare he say a certain sense of pride in  their own craftsmanship. They might not have been home , but no matter how much time had passed, they would always be special.

It was odd to think they had all come from the same place, although most had never met there, and indeed it had been some time subsequent to which that the vast majority had since called the planet home. So much had transpired, in fact, that there were those of them that could no longer even rightfully call themselves human.

Doc, their resident creeper hybrid, had once been a scientist, his current anthropomorphized cybertronic state the result of an experiment gone horribly wrong. It was said that Jevin had once been human long ago, one who’s body had been absorbed by a slime, but who’s will had been too powerful to overcome, thus overriding its own consciousness. Cleo was, for lack of a better term, a bit of a mystery. The only one of them who knew for certain what had happened was Joe, but they had often heard rumours that the man had been at least in some part involved. It had been said that Cleo was slain in battle, and Joe, in his grief, had defied even death itself in order to resurrect her corpse, unable to live with the pain at the loss of his friend. Others say that it was Joe himself that had killed her, and she was simply too stubborn to die. Whatever the case, the Hermits would never truly know. The pair changed the story every time you asked.

These worlds had of course left lasting marks on the rest of them as well. Iskall had lost an eye, TFC a leg, each respectfully replaced with corresponding bits of cybernetics. Ren had been a werewolf long before they had ever met, but there had been an accident only a few year prior that had left a great deal of his human insides as circuitry. Tango’s eyes had once been blue, he had been told, having since gone red due to excessive exposure to the uranium found in this worlds redstone; a substance the man used so frequently here in almost everything he did. A useful resource that a great number of them had used in almost everyday life, but one of which that just so happened to be just a slight bit radioactive.

It had been said that Grian’s bone structure had changed since he had first joined their worlds. False could take more hits than a champion boxer. Scar had not chosen his name lightly, and he could not even begin to describe just whatever it was he thought would capture the true essence of Joe .

Even he had not progressed unscathed, he notes idly, thinking of his own white scar that sliced directly through his left eye; red, like Tango’s. An incident that had occurred long before Hermitcraft was even a mere wayward thought of an idea passing through the consciousness, back when he was young and green. But that had been a long time ago. He had progressed a lot since then. Etho might not have been the oldest amongst the Hermits, but he had been there the longest. He’d been playing this game far longer than most; had practically revolutionized it, and his reputation now extended far beyond the meagre confines of this world or the next.

But then, he supposed the same could be said for that of his comrades. They had all grown a lot over the years, a growth which seemed subsequent whenever they brought the lot of them together. It seemed the Hermits sole existence was dedicated to that of improving their comrades. They pushed each other, and they challenged each other. Encouraged the others to be better than they were. There was a certain level of…support between them. A care . They played, and they fought, and they poked fun at each other, but above all, they cared . They looked after one another, like a family should. And while each could in fact stand as a separate pillar alone, it was a stance that none of them had ever particularly wanted to take. Because they made each other better. And no one person could ever rule the world alone.

Explorers, they had been called. Revolutionaries . An interesting concept, he’d found, whereas nomads , he felt, might have sounded closer to the truth. They took an empty world and they made it their own. Creating games and monuments, cultures, civilizations. And when they grew bored, they simply vanished into the night, leaving for the next world, where they did it all over again.

Creators, some might have said. Geniuses. There were those that might have even rightfully called them Gods, for outwardly they might have almost appeared immortal, in a sense. Here they did not age, as others did, nor did they die, as others had. There were those who might have almost pictured them as a state of divinity. But he knew better. Etho had never seen himself as a God. In fact, right now, he seemed far from it. Staring over the edge of the abyss that surrounded his floating island, he had never felt himself more as…just a man. Insignificant really, in the grand scheme of things. For what was he to do? This was no ordinary Skyblock. He had no trees or other supplies, and thus no access to other resources apart from whatever he was currently stood upon. Which was dirt . And at this altitude?

He had no wings. How was he expected to get down if he couldn’t fly . A funny change of events, he thought, as if he hadn’t spent the majority of his time in his own Savanah without access to flight; an interesting challenge that Iskall had bestowed upon them, one that had set in motion some rather unique forms of transportation. They’d had custom jump pads and water drops, bubble elevators, tridents, feather falling . Things he could never even hope to obtain now, at least, not without first getting down . The only one he might have at least some small chance of obtaining was feather falling - if he stretched out the land of the islands enough he might have the tiniest fraction of a chance of procuring a zombie with the right enchantments on some armour, but he hardly saw how this would help. He knew even the highest level enchantment prepared on even the strongest of armour would not withstand a drop from this height. He would know. They used to die all the time from miscalculated jumps that were almost half this height.

And so, he was going to wait. He was going to terraform himself a nice little hill to lie on, perhaps dig out a rough little hobbit hole to crash under, and he was going to kick his feet up and wait . A good plan, he thought, one that required little to no effort on his part. It was simple, easy to remember, and one that happened to be arguably practical, he reasoned. After all, was this not the first rule of getting lost? Every child knew the proper protocol in this scenario. If you got separated from the group, the smartest thing you could do was to simply stay where you were. After all, if you went looking for someone, the chances were arguably high that they would in turn be looking for you too. And nothing was ever going to be accomplished with two people chasing each other in circles.

And so he waited. Hours. Days. Weeks. You name it. Day after day. Night after night. He sat on his hill and he waited .

And he was bored out of his goddamn mind.

What little communications he had attempted had been strategically deliberate, on his part. For three days he had done nothing. For three days he had sat on his hill and stared at the clouds as they passed him by, picking out the shapes they created against the pale blue sky, drawing figures in the dirt and playing little grass kazoos that he plucked from the blades that grew there. This had all been very deliberate. For on the third night he had made his first attempt. On the third night he had stood beneath an inky sky, and there he found the monster he knew would be waiting for him, and likewise had allowed it to slay him, just as he had planned.

It was a deliberate sort of death. Phantoms provided a lot more of a precise location than anything else. Enderman or even Skeletons could have pointed to multiple dimensions. Zombies or Spiders could have been found in any number of mineshafts or dungeons or really anywhere else in the Overworld for that matter. Witches could have pointed to swamps, which was inaccurate. The only other mob he’d had access to was Creepers, but Creepers possessed much the same problem as Zombies, and also came with the additional drawback of being mildly explosive to the environment, which wasn’t ideal either. Phantoms were the only mob he’d had access to that showed both dimension of origin as well as displayed at least some sense of specifics above Zombies or Spiders. It showed that he was in the Overworld, and it showed that he was above ground, and it showed that he was currently outside without a roof over his head, and in an environment that still allowed such mobs to spawn whilst also  being either inaccessible or else easily defendable from other monsters of similar nature. A point he’d made apparent with his next attempt.

Monster Hunter .

This was a simple enough advancement to get. All he’d really had to do was kill a Zombie, or any other monster for that matter. The achievement of Monster Hunter following his first death by Phantoms served to show his point. He was showing his friends that while other monsters could in fact still spawn, they were not a threat to him. It showed that he in the very least had some way of defending himself. He’d hoped his three initial days without achievements would at least imply that he had indeed not left his spawn, which could in theory point towards a Skyblock. At the very least it was now an option, but it was still a bit of a stretch.

After that there was really very little else he could do to communicate. He couldn’t really get any other achievements, at least not ones that would have helped him. And the only deaths he could get were overall very generic. Zombies, spiders, creepers, Enderman. Just the basics, really. And nothing that would provide any more locational accuracy than what he had already provided.

He waited and he waited. Sunset after sunrise. He went monster hunting sometimes, waiting out the night and collecting whatever little things he could; but he quickly grew bored of this too, the monotony of everything making life seem dull and unexciting. There was a small upside to having 2 islands at his disposal in that whatever monsters that spawned seemed to do so exclusively on whatever island he did not currently occupy, which meant that there was typically at least one island devoid of hostile creatures when he felt he’d had enough fighting for one night. When he grew tired he simply holed himself away under his little hill and waited for morning.

He could at least weave the spider silk into wool, which occupied some of his time, and gave him at least some access to maneuverable foot space. He could probably use it to bridge somewhere if he wanted, but really, where was he expected to go? He could pick a random direction and hope he would eventually hit a mountain range, thus maybe providing him with a closer drop so he could get down, but if he was being honest, that seemed like too much effort. And if he was being completely honest, he knew there was a much quicker way.

All he needed now was to figure out how to make this path work.

He stares over the edge of his island; not the first time he had done so. It was something he had done often whenever he grew bored of the endless waiting . He would sit at the edge of his island and kick his feet over the side, peering down upon the world like some bird sat upon a high perch, and he would think . He could see the ground hundreds of feet below him, daring him, taunting him with its mere existence. How do I get there? He would think, for there must have been a way for him to get down.

After all . He thought . The fastest way to get anywhere is a straight line.

He absentmindedly takes a bit of bone he had procured, crushing it in his hand and sprinkling the grass beside him with the resulting white powder. He knew it would accomplish nothing, but still he watches dully as the grass beside him thickens and grows, spreading outwards from the spot he had touched like a cascading ripple against water. It doesn’t particularly do anything to peak his fancy. The grass was still dull and brown, and despite his previous efforts, still appeared dry and dead. As did everything else on his islands, really. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a single splash of colour, and he turns his head to watch as a bright yellow dandelion uncurls itself from the matted grass. Well. He thought. I guess not everything.

He watches it for a moment. The way its spiked leaves slowly unfurl at the base like a feathery nest. How its plumed petals rustled in the breeze as the yellow blossom unfolds around its neck. He plucks the flower from the earth, twirling it’s stem between his fingertips and examining the golden leaflets of its flower. Dandelions we’re considered pests in a great many places. Common weeds that took over gardens and lawns, destroying land from wherever feeble humans decided to pluck them from the earth, leaving gaping holes that marred the landscape from where the plants had once lived.

He wonders idly what separated the weeds from the flowers. Who had looked upon the dandelion and had first declared it a weed? What characteristics did it possess that somehow set it apart from other flowers? Who had decided that it’s own contributions to the world of botany were somehow worth less? It was no less colourful, nor required any more nurturing. It’s own flower was bigger than some, and certainly bloomed more often than others. They were excellent early pollinators for bees, and the entire plant itself was certainly versatile enough. It possesses many unique uses and properties, and could survive in almost any environment you threw at it with absolutely zero upkeep or human intervention required to boot. And yet, it was unwanted. Why?

There were numerous other examples that came to mind. Clover, bindweed, buttercup, ground ivy. Thistles he was willing to give a bit of leeway, but then, he has to stop himself from falling into that same mistake. Thistles had thorns, which he supposed might have made them easy to excuse, but then, so did roses; one of the most highly sought after flowers that people cultivated all around the world. What was the difference between them, really?

And then the answer comes to him.

Control .

Humans liked to be in control . Dandelions, in this sense, were like a wild animal; untameable to the likes of them. And it felt odd in a sense to describe them as such, as if every other plant in existence were not once a feral part of the natural environment at some point, and yet that it exactly what they were. Wild . Unable to be domesticated by the likes of humans. They grew whether they were wanted or not. Thrived despite other odds that would have them destroyed. They could be pulled out by the root and disposed of, bulldozed over until nothing remained except mulch, and yet still, they would come back just the same. They were strong, and they were resilient, and they hated that.

Perhaps dandelions existed to give them a lesson in humility. A promise, really, that no power, no matter how great, was every truly infinite, for there was always something greater. Even the Gods had Gods, and there were some things even they could not control.

It was humbling, really. Almost…comforting. Perhaps it was good to not be in control for a while. Perhaps we all need to lose ourselves in order to discover who we truly are. And maybe that’s the beauty of being lost. We all get lost as we try to find our way, but perhaps the key is to stop and enjoy the scenery as we go. For after all, it is not how many times we get lost. But how many times we seek the path again.

He turns the flower over in his hand, holding it aloft and allowing the sunlight to refract around the shape of its delicate petals, and he muses. Or perhaps, he thinks, the dandelion was a beacon of hope.  A sign that strength could come from anywhere, even the most unlikely of places. After all, he thinks, look at it now. In an environment that was hot and dry, where it never rained, and on a tiny island that was several thousand feet in the air, far above any meaningful civilization without access to virtually any nutrients found in a soil that most other plants would have needed to grow.

And yet, here it was. Here he was. Alive . Perhaps not thriving, but still alive. He was here on his island, a floating spit of rock in the middle of nowhere, with a single flower that despite all odds had still managed to grow. And it gives him hope. Because if something so small had managed so much, he knew there was hope for him too. Because if something as insignificant as a dandelion could find a way up, then he could sure as hell find a way down.

He lays back against the grass, resting the flower across his chest as he stares up at the sky. He’s high enough here that the clouds are only a couple of inches above him, and he absentmindedly raises a hand upwards, allowing his fingertips to comb through the underside of a cloud that passes by overhead. It’s almost a surreal experience. His hand feels cool as it phases through the microscopic beads of moisture that held the object together. He was literally touching the sky, displacing it with his own hand as the wisps of cloud break apart at his touch before reforming around his fingertips.

He’d felt the sensation many times before. He’d flown through many clouds when he’d had his wings, as had all of them likely. But somehow, this was different. He’d flown through them before, but he’d never really thought to look at them this closely. He’d never noticed how everything seemed to melt away. He could see each individual speck of moisture, like the worlds smallest raindrops that would never fall. They glistened in the sunlight, just barely peaking over the horizon. A gorgeous sight, and yet, one that most would never see. Nobody ever thought to pillar up to the sky just to stare at the underside of a cloud.

He is sitting bolt upright in the next moment. The underside. That was it. How could he have not seen it before? It was so simple. The solution to his problem had literally been staring him right in the face this entire time, he just hadn’t realized it.

He is on his feet in an instant, standing right at the edge of his island and facing inwards. This was going to hurt, but he supposed the ideal part of this particular strategy was that he wouldn’t see it coming. And with nothing else particularly to lose, he takes a deep breath and takes a step back over the edge.

He feels his stomach drop as he plummets to the ground, the wind rushing in his ears as he falls, and he looks straight up, watching his islands grow smaller and smaller as they fade into the sky. It was an odd sort of feeling to describe, that of free-falling. It started out with something almost akin to nausea, like a sense of dizziness, but…lighter. Like experiencing the first big drop on a rollercoaster for the first time, where your initial fear eventually morphs into excitement. And when it continues on, that excitement morphs into an adrenaline, and eventually you are left with nothing but a sort of high frequency buzzing, as if your body is stuck mid shiver, feeling, and yet unable to fully process the cold of the wind as it rushes by.

It felt like you were the heaviest object on earth and yet simultaneously weightless at the same time. You know you are going to hit the ground, and you know if you don’t stop then you will die. And yet, another part of you feels as if you will be suspended there forever.

And then it stops.

You were gone the second you hit the ground. And despite common misconceptions, it did in fact hurt quite a lot. You were literally breaking every bone in your body, it wasn’t going to feel like a tickle, and yet it was quick. Like ripping off a bandaid. For about half a second you experience the greatest pain imaginable, and then it was done. And as far as deaths went, this certainly wasn’t the worst way to go.

He respawns back on his island, as he had expected, and he takes a fraction of a second to shake any lingering feelings of pain from his system, and then he digs himself a trench. Without moving from his location, he digs a circular trench around his starting spot, shifting the dirt so that he is now standing in the centre of a small mound, and carefully piling any excess soil to the side.

And then he jumps off again.

When he respawns on that same mound of dirt in the middle of his circle, he knows it’s the correct spot.

And then he starts to dig.

He demolishes his islands. Taking every last scrap of dirt he could collect and scraping right down to stone before piling everything off to the left of his spawn circle. And then, he digs that up too, removing everything until there is a single speck of dirt left that marked it’s spot and a large pile off to the side.

He makes sure his pockets are empty before moving to stand on his mark, sweeping even that too into his hands and placing his feet firmly on the stone. He leans down then, being careful not to lose his place, and examines a bit of stone directly adjacent his own.

And then he strikes it.

Again and again he strikes the stone with a clenched fist; not that he had any tools to use. He could feel the pain as his hand hits the surface, but he knew it wasn’t really hurting him. Mechanics were very specific, and while he could still feel each blow as it’s struck, he knows that it was physically impossible to actually damage him here. It was just in his head.

The stone eventually shatters with a sharp crack, and when it has vanished from his field of view, he starts the next one. And the next. Digging straight down until he can see sky below him, and there is now a singular hole of a tunnel running straight through the bottom of his island.

He takes a deep breath, gathering the small amount of dirt he had used as a marker in his hands, and he looks down. This was it. This was how he was getting out of here. He couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to think of it. After all, the only resources he needed had already been available to him. He had just been thinking about the entire operation backwards.

He was going to use the ground as a pillar. Although, not in the normal sense. He couldn’t start at the bottom like a normal pillar would, he didn’t have nearly enough material for that. It would have only made it about half the distance, maybe not even that, and then he would have really been screwed. No, he couldn’t start at the bottom. And so that left him only one option really.

He was going to start at the top.

It was a little bit unconventional, he would give it that. In a normal Skyblock, it would have been pretty pointless to do so. After all, Skyblock took place in a void, there was nothing to get down to , and any expansion downwards one felt was needed was likely better accomplished by obtaining a bucket of water, which was usually provided at the start. He didn’t have the luxury. But unlike a normal Skyblock, he did have something to get down to. And the one advantage to starting at the top? Well, let’s just say that it was significantly easier to stretch his resources when he didn’t have to fight the flow of gravity.

He clasps the dirt in his hands tightly before stepping forward, plunging himself through his man-made tunnel he had dug, and he looks straight up at the sky. Half a second later he releases the dirt, throwing his hands upwards and tapping the underside of the bottom bit of stone with his palm. He just barely manages to see the dirt getting sucked upwards as it’s drawn towards the gravity of the island, fusing itself to the bottom of the stone like a new extension of the island, and then he’s plummeting to his death. And when he respawns again, he glances back down his tunnel of a hole, now being able to make out the smallest handful of brown dirt fused to the bottom of the stone, a single step closer to the ground.

He takes another handful from his pile and goes again.

Little by little he makes his way down. One little piece at a time. Bit by bit his pillar grows longer and longer until eventually he has used every last scrap of dirt off his island.

Only, he still hadn’t reached the ground.

Now, he’d prepared for this; had expected as much really. He’d known from the start that whatever small scraps of dirt he’d possessed would not be enough to reach the ground with a singular pillar. But that was where his particular position had actually managed to come in handy. It allowed for a bit of…syphoning of the materials. Now, he wasn’t usually known for liking pillars. Was known even less for liking things that were hollow and full of holes. But just this once he was going to pretend. Just this once it wasn’t lazy or sloppy. It was more like…recycling.

He doesn’t jump off immediately this time. Instead, he gets on his hands and knees and chips away the remaining stone immediately surrounding his pillar. Carving his trench deeper all the way around his spawning point until it breaks right through to the other side of the island and he is left with a stand-alone floating pillar in the middle of a hole in whatever is now left of his island. This was for space purposes, really. He needed that space for what he was about to do next. He digs out his own platform now. Removing the 3 odd layers of stone directly beneath his feet and then the first layer of dirt - the first piece he had fused to the bottom of the rock. Only now there was no rock, and he is left with nothing but a free standing pillar of dirt with a spawning point roughly 4 paces down from where it had started. He’d take a bit of damage next time he respawned, but he could live with that.

He gets on his stomach now, dirt still in hand, and he reaches down the side of the pillar. As far as his little arms could reach he stretches, fusing this piece of dirt to the side several more paces down. And when he jumps this time, he doesn’t aim right for the ground. Instead, he goes for that single ledge he’s just created himself, using it like a climbing wall of a stepping stone in what was about to be some very intense parkour.

Once he’s on the ledge, he puts his plan into motion. He looks back towards the pillar and digs himself a little crawl space into it - a particular perk of how gravity functioned, or perhaps did not function on these planets quite the same. This left him with a floating pillar of dirt, the likes of which now contained a single foothold on the outside, and a small gap in the middle, big enough to fit a single person and nothing else. This was where he stood.

He dusts the excess onto the side ledge - he would use that during the next round, and then he jumps off again, using the syphoned dirt from the pillar to extend it yet another step down, and then he’s once again stood at the top, just as before.

He does this same step again, once more aiming for that first foothold when he jumps, collecting the leftover dirt from the last time, and he goes again. And again. He syphons the rest of the pillar above that point, everything except for that starting space, leaving a single bit of dirt at the top  for him to spawn on, and then he goes down. Counting exactly as many paces as between the top spawn and the first foothold, and then he makes another one, once more getting onto his stomach and leaning over the side before fusing himself another foothold several more paces down, and he repeats the same process.

The end result might have almost looked like stairs. Several floating bits of land that descended gradually like the worlds longest and steepest staircase, with several feet between each step. He had to jump for each one. Starting at the top he gradually works his way down, taking long leaps from step to step until eventually he has accomplished what he had set out to do.

He had reached the ground.

He takes a moment to catch his breath when he does. It took a great deal of muscle strength to do any form of parkour, and he had essentially just propelled himself down from the top of the world. It was no small feat, although the resulting mess he had made of the sky was definitely not pretty to look at.

The sun was fully up now, and out of the corner of his eye he catches something move. A cluster of dandelions in the field, planted firmly in the ground and swaying gently in the breeze. A reminder. Strength can come from anywhere. He smiles lightly.

Skyblock, at its core, is the ultimate challenge of resource management.

He thinks of the quote again now and draws his eyes from the patch of flowers, turning to look back up at where he had started, what he had accomplished.

And then he pulls out his communicator, turning the device over in his hand and staring at the blank, empty screen. It hadn’t gone off, and yet, he thinks of his friends, the task ahead of them, and he ponders.

Skyblock teaches us that no matter how ridiculous the odds may seem, within us resides the power to overcome these challenges and achieve something beautiful. And one day we’ll look back at where we started, and be amazed by how far we’ve come.

He looks back at the sky and clutches his communicator in his hand.

Perhaps this challenge was meant to teach them something too.

Chapter 50: Iskall85

Iskall was not the first Hermit to start in darkness. He had no way of knowing this, although logically speaking, he knows the statement must be true. Anywhere underground would be viable to the dark. Mineshafts and Ancient Cities, Strongholds, Dungeons - the average structures within the deeper systems of tunnels, sprawling throughout the world like the roots of an ancient forest. You could step even further from the specifics, if one desired, only to find the numerous possibilities doubled for your efforts. The Deep Dark and Aquifers, Dripstone Caverns and Ravines. Grottos or Groves stretched across oceans and streams. Even ordinary caves possessed seemingly infinite chasms of dark that stretched across the face of the world.

There was of course the above ground to consider as well. Temples or Outposts or even Mansions were subjected. Dark oak forests with twisted trees, with giant trunks each with a canopy like a gnarled hand, reaching towards the heavens as if to eclipse the sun - a touch that turned all light to ash, all stars to black, and then there was darkness throughout the land.

And then there was the night.

An everlasting night, or so it felt to those unprepared for its wrath - a sentiment they all shared, particularly upon arrival on any new world. A sentiment he was sure many of them carried with them even now, after all these years.

And so no, Iskall is not the first Hermit to find themself faced with the darkness.

He is , however, the first to find someone in that darkness staring back .

He jumps, startled. The figure jumps with him. A loud Ding! like a resonant chime reaches his ears, and he steps again at the unexpected sound. It dings again.

His head turns towards the sound on instinct, a reflex really, although in this case entirely unnecessary. It was only natural. After all, the human eye was naturally drawn towards any noise, it couldn’t be helped that people were biologically designed to be curious. But as he had noted, in this particular situation, he knows the movement to be unnecessary. Even as his ear involuntarily seeks the sound, he can already hear his own mind tell him its source.

Amethyst.

His head, however, had not even finished completing its turn before he is once again snapped to attention. Something had moved before, he remembers. And it moves again now; he can see it out of the corner of his eye. Closer this time. His head snaps around just in time to see the figure. A face appears mere inches from his own, warped and distorted and ghost-like in the dark. It appears in a flash so fast that the sheer speed and proximity is enough to make his heart pound. From zero to a hundred in an instant; a whining sort of ache that hits his chest like a gunshot and spreads throughout his torso, up his neck, hitting him like a triple shot of adrenaline that sends an achy sort of tingle throughout every nerve ending in his body.

He jolts back on instinct, his left hand twitching down towards his hip as if unconsciously reaching for a weapon he knows is not there, his right surging forward as if to strike, even as his feet are already taking a step backward; a simultaneous response of a fight and flight reflex - a fighting stance. One that he jolts into within a matter of seconds.

He jumps back and he waits. He waits. And he blinks.

A beat.

And then he laughs.

He throws his head back and he laughs, a pinched sound at first, strained with his disbelief. Something that morphs from a tea kettle whistle into a full out belly laugh the longer it goes. He laughs and he laughs, clutching at his sides as if trying to pull himself together, an action which falls immensely flat, like his stance soon after; a sound that hits the room at a frequency that vibrates the walls like the inner workings of a timpani, one that resonates with a distinctive crystalline ring, as if screaming into the glass bowl of a chalice.

His reflection. He had been startled by his own reflection.

“Well Hallo there!” He chuckles, waving a hand before the glass-like shards of amethyst; a fully grown cluster that sat just mere inches from his face. A ghostly reflection of himself waves back. He laughs again at his own stupidity. He had quite literally just scared himself . Over amethyst . A notion that was so ridiculously stupid that he can’t help but laugh. At the world. At himself. At everything.

“ Stupid amethyst! ” He chuckles to himself between giggles, reaching forward to swipe at the cluster with his hand, intent upon its destruction, only to find that this intent appears to fall short. Not as though the task is not accomplished, but rather it is what happens after that wipes his smile from his face, causing whatever lingering laughter to die on his lips, the sound catching abruptly in his throat like he had just inhaled a sudden breath of gas into his lungs.

The Crystal shatters spectacularly, sending a shower of shards outwards from the impact point like an explosion of glass, with an accompanying sound like a sort of splintering flute smashed against marble, and with a lingering toll like that of a key ring tossed into the air as it reaches its apex. The chime resounds slowly, prominently, suspended through the air like a thick fog as if a ghost in the night. And then; like that key ring, it recedes, crashing back down to earth to rest once more in that waiting palm, a similar chime as before, only…different.

In the next instant the shards recoil, extracting themselves from the air much like an object caught in a tractor beam. Like a magnetic field imbedded at the source of that cluster, breathing it’s life through every last shard of arms both attached and not, and one that beckons to each and every individual splinter now scattered throughout the air, and one that then calls them home.

He watches in amazement as the mess of glass is seemlessly extracted from the air, defying both laws of physics and gravity that should not have been possible as all shards are apparently recalled to their original position. It was like hitting the rewind button on reality. One by one every shard is returned to its bud, reforming itself until he is once again left staring into the warped glass of a perfectly restored, nye-untouched amethyst cluster. Just as if nothing had ever happened.

“Umm…H—Hallo..??” He blinks. “ Hallo?! ” He tries again. “What just happened? How did you— what just happened?! ”

He reaches forward and taps a shard. It felt solid. Whole. Without so much as a nick in the glass. He wraps his hand around the arm, a firm grip and full, as if drawing a sword from stone, and he snaps it off at its end. Moments later he feels a small tug, the shard wriggling in his palm like an insect trying to escape his grasp, and he stares at it curiously before opening his hand, allowing the arm to slip from his fingertips and once again find its way back to its severed end. And at first he is confused. At first he does not understand the significance of what could have caused the object to act as such. But as he watches that arm meld itself back together, smoothing out its surface like a melted glass, it dawns on him. A rather terrifying realization at that. One that hits him like a sack of bricks tied around his feet, and he is being dragged down to the ever crushing depths of deep ocean water below.

It was protected ground.

“Oh…” he breathes lightly, disbelieving, turning to glance around the sealed and darkened cavern of geode that surrounded him. “oh no… oh no! ”

It take him a second to process. And then another to get his limbs to move. He starts off small, merely testing 1 or 2 with a sort of hesitant curiosity. And then he rushes for the clusters. Breaking each as he swings for them, two, three, five, in a flurry of motion that sends a tornado of shards spiralling round like a hurricane of glass through the air. And he panics. The glass swirls like the violent rain of a storm, and he panics . Because they had to break. He needed them to. Because this couldn’t be it. Because he couldn’t be trapped here.

He waits in a panic as each cluster resets itself, the air beginning to clear as the shards meld themselves back together, only to find himself astonished once again at the sight of several loose shards that still remained splayed across the floor. He stares for several moments as he waits for them to clear, but they don’t. He reaches forward, plucking one from the ground, rolling the broken cylindrical arm between his fingertips as if to confirm that it was, in fact, real - a tangible surface that would not spontaneously disappear in a cloud of smoke the second he averted his gaze. And when it remains once more, he gives it a final testing sort of tap, knocking the object against the side of the wall as if to prove it is solid.

And then he adjusts his grasp. A firm and purposeful sort of grip, positioning the pointed tip against the smooth calcite wall before making a series of solid jabs against the stone; an infraction point. Slowly yet vehemently chipping away like a makeshift pick in a mine, wearing away at the stone until—

PPSHHHHHHHHHHH—!!

The rock bursts like a dam, a sudden and violent rush of water bursting from the hole with a force and impact enough to incapacitate a small child. As it was, he, a fully grown man, is thrown back several feet, pushed backwards with a force enough to knock him off his feet - a fall which is broken by the now-shallow pool of water gathered around what moments ago would have been feet; now his entire bottom half that finds himself sat rather unceremoniously in the impromptu pool of wet.

And then, just as suddenly, it stops. The gush of water recedes into itself, settling slowly into a gentle sort of stream; tempered and almost peaceful, and significantly less violent, and Iskall is left sitting in its resulting mess. Splayed across the remaining pool as water drips from his now sodden hair, the wetness seeping through the material of his now wet clothing, and he blinks stupidly down at the several remaining amethyst shards gathered at the base of his now wet feet - the original perpetrators.

A beat.

“WELL WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT, THEN?!”

Notes:

Listen, I intended to make this chapter twice this length and then it took me 5 months to write and I promptly decided that was not happening anymore 😅 the writers block was real with this one

Chapter 51: JoeHills

Notes:

I am ALSO tagging this chapter specifically as RPF for very brief reference moments to Joes past history as a Marine Corp but that’s about it.

Also. Backstory. Anyone that has not heard the story of how Cleo actually MET Joe is about to be REAL confused - essentially Joe made his iconic “a few serious words for ZombieCleo” video challenging her to a fight to the death via Vechs Maps. I’m essentially putting a twist on this particular story and adding some drama

Also if the middle section of this chapter seems out of place it is because I actually wrote it for a separate fic about how Joe and Cleo met that I ended up scrapping, but I liked the interaction so much that I had to use it somewhere, so MORE BACKSTORY

—

Dear Hermit,

You are cordially invited to participate in a Game. Your presence is desired as well as required. The Game in consideration shall encompass the following: Each of you will be brought to a new World where you will subsequently be scattered throughout its terrain; you may navigate this terrain as you please. Your only goal is to find the others. You may not leave the World until this is accomplished.

The rules of The Game are simple:

—

Number One: You may not communicate through text or chat of any form. You may use your communicators however else you see fit.

Number Two: Night can only be skipped if all other players are also in bed. You must sleep a full night in order to eliminate Phantoms. You must sleep a full night in order to set your Spawn.

Number Three: You will start from square one. No tools or resources will be provided, and you must gather everything from scratch.

Number Four: Each Player will start in the location that is personally the most inconvenient for them.

—

You may choose to decline this invitation if you desire, but know that should anyone abstain, none shall be able to participate, and thus all appeals shall be considered forfeit. However, should success befall you, recompense shall be revealed accordingly.

Please note that the Game is designed to make it difficult for you to progress, and consequently you are expected to struggle. As such, given the breadth of the task before you, I will offer you each this piece of advice:

Follow the laws and rules you find arrayed before you and plunge deeper into this new world. These depths, like the heavens, have answers that are greater than ourselves.

—

Joe goes over the letter again in his head. He had to have read it through a hundred times by now, maybe more. He’d memorized it long ago whilst still confined in the depths of his Stronghold - he’d certainly had the time to accomplish it.

It intrigued him. It perplexed him. What did it all mean? Why were they here? Who had sent for them? The depths have answers , the note had said. But answers to what.

He intended to find out.

“So…I’ve been thinking, Cleo.”

“Oh no…” Comes Cleo’s instantaneous response, the woman trotting along just to his right as the pair walk side by side through a field of unsuspecting plains. “ Yes , Joe!” She adds brightly, a teasing sort of inflection - a phoney concern she had inflected upon many such phrases, and an act of which he knows to be a blatant mockery. I mean, they had to entertain themselves somehow .

But he ignores this obvious attempt at jest. There were more important things on his mind, after all. And of those particular things, there is one that eats away at him in this particular moment. One that’s answer, he was convinced, may give him a particular frame of insight into the larger question.

“What made you change your mind?”

“ Gonna have to be more specific, darlin’.”

Joe looks up at this response, and Cleo throws him an obvious look, one that clearly screamed the evident ‘ What the hell are you on about now? ’ inflection of which he knows the woman to be well acquainted.

“Why we were brought here.” He clarifies. “You came back to ask me about it. You seemed skeptical when I brought it up the night before.” He points out.

“I mean…I’m not gonna lie, skepticism is kind of in my nature?” Cleo raises an eyebrow. “You know, relatively speaking? So…”

“Right. Ok. But like, practically. ” He starts. “In the face of skepticism. By definition , one must feel a certain degree of… truth . Or belief . Regarding certain parameters surrounding discussion. In order to completely discount them immediately.”

“I mean, yeah?” She questions. “Look, I never said I didn’t believe you, Joe. Just that— you know. There were perhaps… Other . Possibilities.”

“Right.” He agrees instantly, an expectancy to his voice. A matter-of-factness that displayed a pointedcy like a spoken statement rather than a simple replication, and he waits for her to follow his particular frame of reasoning. “…Soooo what made you revisit this possibility?”

Cleo is quiet for a moment. Thoughtful. And several moments later, she finally speaks again.

“I don’t…really know. I think it was Scar, actually.” She responds. “Something he said to me. Or maybe something he did, I’m not really sure.” She stops there, thoughtful again. Like she had confused herself. As if she too didn’t quite understand why whatever it was had made her revisit the topic at all, let alone completely change her stance on its outcome.

“Ok?” Joe prompts. “And what did Scar say to you?”

Cleo frowns again. “… Nothing , really. He was just sort of… being Scar. Like, he was just talking about messing with Bdubs, I think. I guess I just—“ She pauses again, struggling profusely to explain herself, before switching gears. “I dunno. You asked me if I was suffering, and I was . At the start. But then…I guess we started finding each other. I was out in the courtyard messing with Scar and realized that I was almost having fun . Which, like, maybe out of the ordinary for something designed to make us suffer?” She pauses briefly before looking at him squarely. “Are you suffering?”

He shakes his head. “No. Maybe in the beginning, but it’s like you said. The more people we found. The more time we spent together. The more everything started to feel just sort of…normal.”

“ Normal! ” Cleo laughs. “Right! Ok. Cause that’s definitely a word I would use to describe us in any situation ever. ”

“I mean, what is normal, really?” Joe shrugs.

“I dunno. Not whatever the hell we have goin’ on though, that’s for sure.” Cleo retorts.

“I mean, if one persons normal is different than another persons normal, what even is normal anymore? Doesn’t that actually just make us normal by default then? Like…if everything we do isn’t normal…if—if our default is just chaos. Does that not actually just mean that to us, everything we do is normal? Like a double negative makes a positive?”

“…it’s too early for this.”

Joe laughs lightly. “I mean, you’re not wrong there.” He rolls his shoulders tiredly, lolling his head as if it was too heavy in a sort of half attempted stretch. 

“You alrigh’?” Cleo asks.

“Just tired.” He hums.

“Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m ok. You know, the movement is helping with the whole conscious thang. You know, like those old mindful fitness routines or something like that.”

“I could stab you some if you’d ike, Joe. If you really felt the need.” Cleo offers. And even though Joe isn’t looking at her, the man can hear the smile on her face, the glee in her voice, the sparkle in her eye. “It would wake you up, I’m pretty sure.”

“You know, maybe we don’t do that?” He suggests. “Just…as a thought?”

Cleo chuckles. “Oh Joe. Wha’re we gonna do with you.”

“Historically, murder sounds accurate!” He quips back.

“It’s not murder , it’s demonstrative manslaughter! There’s a difference!”

“ Demonstrative manslaughter! ” Joe laughs. “It’s like death! But affectionate!”

“Exactly! It’s with love! You know that! Just little love taps, is all.”

“Love stabs. ” He corrects matter-of-factly.

“Little love stabs!” She agrees.

“Gotta have the love stabs. You know what they say. If your relationship doesn’t have exuberant homicide, do you even have a relationship at all?“

Cleo laughs. “…What were we saying about normal again?”

He smiles lightly, walking forward several steps more before covering his mouth as a large yawn escapes him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine!” He insists. “Just perhaps running a bit low on sleep, is all. I’m ok!”

“Ah. I forget that people actually need to sleep sometimes.” She laughs through her nose. “The perks of being undead, I suppose.”

“I…so— this might be a sort of… personal question for you here, Cleo—“

“Oh no…”

“—but I— I’m curious about something.”

“Go on.”

“Do you remember being alive?” He asks. “Like do you remember any of your old life at all?”

“Some of it.” She shrugs indifferently. “It was a long time ago. Like, I mean a long time ago,” she chuckles, “but I remember some things. I don’t remember every last detail or anything, but you know, neither does any human being on the planet, so.”

“Do you remember the day that we met?”

Cleo sighs deeply. “I mean, obviously, alright, it’s not like it was… difficult to remember.” And despite her words, the phrase does in fact sound quite difficult for her to say, and Joe takes a mental note of her tone before speaking again.

“You sound almost bitter about that.” He notes, and Cleo throws him a glance.

“I mean, you challenged me to a fight to the death? So?” She raises a pointed eyebrow. “And— look, recalling the outcome of that particular battle, I mean, can you blame me, really?”

“I mean, you accepted the challenge.” Joe points out.

“Didn’t really have much of a choice, did I?” She counters.

He considers this for a moment - a valid argument. But then, one of which could also be swayed in his direction. “Well… I would argue that I also didn’t have much of a choice, but…you know. Here we are.”

Cleo sighs. “I know. I know. Trust me, I know.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t blame you, Joe. Just…for the record. I never blamed you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” He replies simply. Earnestly. In a voice that is small, but genuine.

“Good. I just— It was—…” She pauses as she tries to find the correct words. “Everything was just, you know… a little bit annoying , not gonna lie.” She laughs despite herself. “I mean not you!” She adds quickly. “Not you. Just—well actually —“

Joe bursts into a fit of giggles. “Well that’s obviously a lie!”

Cleo cracks a smile. “Yeah, was just gonna say—“

“I annoy you constantly! ”

“ You do! You do. It’s enrichment for you at this point, I think.”

“It really is!” He giggles.

“Always enrich your Joes! It’s good for their health!” She laughs. “Maybe not your health specifically. Or my health I suppose. But you know, their health is fine. Because, you know—“

“That’s all that matters.” Joe supplies helpfully.

“That’s all that matters.” Cleo agrees. “That’s all the matters. And any loss of sanity is to be expected, really.”

Joe promptly bursts out laughing. “ What do you mean loss?! ” He giggles.

Cleo grins. “Sorry, sorry. I meant absence of sanity, is more like.”

“Yeah like, what is sanity?!” He breathes between giggles.

“ What is sanity?! ” Cleo laughs. “ We do not know of this sentiment! ” She boasts.

“ What is sanity?! ” Joe only laughs harder. “ We don’t have that here! ”

They laugh and they laugh, as old friends do; the sort of humour that only old friends have. It was an unconventional friendship between them, given their history. But then, perhaps it was the sort of bond that could only be forged through such a history. A secure attachment between the two that is comfortable and familiar. Talking with Cleo was easy. It had always been easy for him. And it was something he had sorely missed all the time they had been separated.

Cleo smiles softly. “Do you ever think about how differently our lives would have turned out if we hadn’t fought that day?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. “I don’t… particularly tend to dwell on the events…of which I never particularly had…any…real… regrets regarding and/or relating to…as…I’ve found they tend to have derived, or at the very least seemed to have presented the opportunity, resulting in the most optimal of outcomes.”

“Good to know that you don’t regret, you know, killing me , Joe.”

“I mean, have you ever regretted any of the times you’ve killed me?” He counters. 

“…Fair.” She concedes. A pause. “You really don’t regret it at all?”

He shakes his head. “I mean…I met you , didn’t I?”

“I mean yeah, but…come on. You don’t wish that we maybe could have met under different circumstances?”

“I mean…I don’t think it would have mattered, honestly?” He starts. “Like…I don’t think it really matters how we met if…the result…would still be the same regardless? I mean, given what we know now…I don’t know about you, but I would… personally choose to repeat this process again…given the knowledge that the results would reflect a parallel universe congruent with the finding represented in this, our own reality. Which, in this example, merely represents a string of hypothetical data presented in this here hypothetical experiment regarding a non existent timeline, in which we were to once again be thrown into another coliseum esk battlefield, or arena-like amphitheater, if you will.”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be exactly the same, surely.”

“No?”

“Nah.” Cleo smirks. “Next time I would win.”

Joe smiles. “Well, you sound confident, and who am I to deprive you of such emotions of the mind?”

“That felt very condescending, not gonna lie.”

“Was it?” He smiles wider.

“It definitely was!” Cleo laughs.

“Do you know why I challenged you that day?” He asks suddenly.

“Figured it had something to do with the fact that we were both being, umm…you know, forced to fight to the death .” Comes Cleo’s immediate response.

“Well, no, but I could have just showed up at the arena for that.” He reasons. “Like…I didn’t have to go out of my way to issue you an official challenge there.”

“This is true. This is tru—why did you challenge me, then?”

“Well, there were a number of reasons, I guess.” He starts. “There was that sort of… personal element there. Like…or maybe not personal , but more…individualistic??”

“Yeah.”

“Or like self-legislating?” He tries again. “If that makes sense?

“Yeah. Yeah. Go on.” She nods for him to continue.

“Yeah. Like…there’s just a moment there where you have to stop and ask yourself… why …or—or— how you can expect to live with yourself…knowing you would make that decision to take the life of someone…who…you’ve not necessarily met before—“

“Yeah.”

“Or really even having spoken to at all.”

“Right.”

“And then taking the ramifications of that decision…and analyzing what that might say about you as a person.”

“I agree, yes.” Cleo nods.

“Ok.” Joe breathes. “And then there is the sort of… interpersonal element to consider.” He continues. “Which— in a way I guess is actually really just personal again?? But like…personal in a sort of interpersonal way??”

“Ok?” Cleo questions.

“Like— it— it wasn’t personal.” He clarifies. “We knew nothing about each other, we had never met before, so I am going to assume that both of us knew that it was nothing personal.”

“Right.” She nods.

“And I guess I kind of wanted to… make it personal??” He tries. “In a way?? Like obviously I didn’t want to start anything with you, but — at the same time— I also didn’t really want another match of just mindless fighting because someone else told us to?? Like…If I was gonna die, I would have much rather it been on my own terms? Like…or…I guess it was actually partially for your benefit too. Or not benefit, that’s probably the wrong word, but more…merit?? distinction?? I guess?? Like…just a subtle nod there—

“Yeah, just— just that subtle acknowledgment.” She overlaps him.

“Yeah.” He agrees instantly. “Like…you know how people bow before they’re about to fight someone as a sign of respect.”

“Yeah, yeah. I understand.” She nods. “A very Joe kind of reasoning, but yes.”

“Yeah…And…I know it really didn’t change anything per say, but—“

Cleo cuts him off abruptly once more with a sharp noise of disagreement. “It changed everything, Joe. And not—“ she adds sternly “just because of the result. I never would have known you otherwise. If you hadn’t challenged me like you did, we could have gone our whole lives without ever speaking to each other, regardless of the results. We never would have become friends. I never would have joined Hermitcraft. We wouldn’t be here right now having this conversation.” She throws him a very serious sort of stare. “It changed everything.”

Joe grins lightly as a thought strikes him. “So, what we’re slowly learning here is just that what we’re doing now is actually just the result of our own choices.”

Cleo makes a face. “Ooo, I don’t like that .” She grimaces. “I mean you’re not wrong , I just don’t like it.”

Joe smiles wider. “Everything we have ever done has just slowly led up to this point of us exhaustedly following a compass through a field!” He giggles.

“Oh god…You’re the reason we’re lost in this bloody field!” She exclaims.

“I mean I wouldn’t say we’re lost exactly. We know where we’re going.”

Cleo promptly turns to look out across the expanse of empty plains. “…Do we? Cause I feel like we don’t.”

“I mean more or less. The compass points to a location, right?”

“That’s a direction, darling, not a destination.”

Cleo is silent for a moment then, a sort of distant expression as the pair walk along, and he knows she’s thinking about something. Perhaps their conversation before, he thinks, although it was always hard to tell with her. He allows her to reflect, just the barest ghost of an amused smile chipping away at the corners of her mouth, before she suddenly speaks again.

“You would have made a terrible soldier.” She says unexpectedly. Amusedly. Like the mere thought tickled her greatly and she had not just insulted her closest friend.

“Gee, thanks.” He replies sarcastically.

“Well you would have! I’m sorry!” She says, sounding in fact not very sorry at all. “Like look, you don’t exactly have the, um…the constitution . To be a dog of the military. Is all I’m saying.”

Joe blinks once more at her bluntness. “Well… I would argue that I did in fact have the constitution. Because, you know…that was kind of my life for a while, there.” He points out.

Cleo shakes her head. “That still blows my mind to this day. Like, I can not picture you as being one to join the military.”

“I mean, can I ask why?”

“Well for starters you are… bloody awful at taking orders.”

“Whaaaaat? No…”

“ No?! ” Cleo scoffs. “No no no no, don’t you even start with me. You are bloody awful at taking orders. I know that, and you know that.”

“Well, ok…but like… some people might argue that the ability to question authority might demonstrate a show of autonomy , which some might consider a positive trait in certain situations.”

“I…in the Military? ” She questions.

“I mean maybe not from the perspective of like an Admiral or something.” He defends. “but like—“

“Just not anyone who would, you know, actively be giving you orders .” She emphasizes once more.

“Well— ok.” He lets it drop. Not a concession, nor a victory, but rather a sort of silent compromise. Agree to disagree. They walk on.

“I meant that as a compliment you know.” Cleo says after a moment.

“I know.” He says again, and he does .

“It’s not a bad thing.” She reinstates. “You are very, um… unapologetically yourself. It’s…prominent, Joe. Admirable even.” And though her previous words might have been pointed, her tone now is soft, and Joe knows that she means it.

“ ThAnk you, CLEo! ” He says brightly, adorably. A cutesy sort of voice with a cadence that borders on teasing, but not quite. It’s a showy sort of voice, and endearing, one that he did often enough certainly. In fact, he was sure he had said the exact phrase to Cleo on over a hundred occasions prior, and it is for this reason that he knows his repetition of it now is sure to elicit one of precisely two responses.

Option 1: Cleo would match his tone and phrasing with a high pitched “ You’re wElcome, JOe! ” An equally obnoxious sounding voice, and almost mocking. It was a playful sort of response, like a form of game between them. Like the pair were a couple of school children on the playground making funny voices in an effort to get the other to laugh - a phenomenon that entertained them greatly, particularly in the face of long exhausted teachers who had endeared the misfortune of listening to their little game for the last hour and a half.

But this is not the response that he gets today.

Indeed, today Cleo responds with the later. Perhaps a less lighthearted response, in the grand scheme of things. Not as playful, and yet no less wholesome, although perhaps a might more genuine than the alternative; a response that went a little something like this.

Now, an important consideration to make was that Cleo was smart. She was witty, and intuitive, and had a quick mind, but above all else, the most important distinction she could make in fact came in the form of a particular skill that she possessed. A skill that, as she would account, was in fact a lot easier said than accomplished. Although she could accomplish it. Perhaps one of the few beings in the Universe that knew how, but she could do it.

Cleo could understand Joe.

She knew his ticks and his tricks and his mannerisms. But above all, she knew his mind. A rather frightening account, really, but she knew why he did the things he did. That wasn’t to say she didn’t question him, because dear God the man was obnoxious when he wanted to be, but as painful as it may have been for her to admit, she did understand his reasonings. 

And this was the cornerstone upon which their conversation is based.

See, upon occasions such as this, whereupon Joe would rattle off his typical acknowledgment, Cleo would in fact see through his mask of endearment. Although ‘mask’ was perhaps not the correct word, as he had in fact never uttered the phrase and not meant it. But then, it is for this same reason that perhaps ‘mask’ was then the perfect word. Their lighthearted delivery was sure to throw some off the trail of genuineness - a falsehood, to be sure, for they were always genuine. A truth of which Cleo knows, although only sometimes chooses to accept; particularly with regards to herself, for she was always very hard on herself and did not take compliments well.

But then, on occasion, she was forced to accept the fact. And along the same lines, ‘forced’ could indeed be taken with a grain of salt, as it was actually a very deliberate and conscious effort on her part. A fact of which that would be made abundantly clear by the woman’s next course of action.

Cleo freezes; pausing briefly in her tracks with a fleeting sort of hiccuped step, her entire body going rigid like she had just been struck with a strong electrical current, almost appearing to recoil in on itself like a cat that has just accidentally shoved its nose into a bowl of water, instinctively lurching itself backwards at the sudden shock. He can see her deliberating. Can practically feel the cogs churn within her mind, as if she could not possibly imagine the thought of anyone genuinely thanking her for something, and the action was struggling to compute into her brain.

He can feel her fight against this instinct. Can see the barest subtly of change in her expression as she forces herself to accept it - a conscious effort on her part. And when she speaks again, it is with a tone of utmost genuity. A soft, yet clean enunciation of each word, as if this clarity will somehow recapitulate such arrant veracity, and spoken in such a way that the very tendrils of her voice seem to wrap themselves so completely around the passage.   

“…You’re welcome.”

And despite its simplicity, he knew it was more than just a phrase. It was an understanding. An acknowledgment of the other. Of respect, of equality, but…more. And it was difficult to put into words the full depth of the denotation, but none the less, he understands the phrase for what he has taken it to mean. I see you. I hear you. I am with you. We are in this together.

“Do you think that’s part of it, maybe?” He says suddenly. Cleo blinks, confused.

“…Sorry?”

“Well, one could argue that we are all very unapologetically ourselves, which, to some, might suggest a specific need , if you will. A uniqueness that is unequivocal to each Hermit, which perhaps suggests a selectiveness of choice in decision for our volition here.”

“What, like we were selected on purpose??” Cleo asks sceptically . “ Hardly seems very exclusive when we are literally all here.”

“ The Hermits are here.” Joe emphasizes. “That’s my point. Why? The letter said if even one of us declined, none of us would be able to participate. Which suggests that they need all of us here. And so the question becomes this. Why does someone need The Hermits ? What do the Hermits collectively possess, both as individuals as well as a singular unit, that is at once desirable and also serves a functional purpose?”

“Ok? And why do we care?” Cleo questions once more.

“I’m just trying to understand the clue.” He defends. “It said the depths have answers. But answers to what?”

“What are you going on about?”

“You know, the advice on the letter.” He recounts. “‘Follow the laws and rules you find arrayed before you and plunge deeper into this new world. These depths, like the heavens, have answers that are greater than ourselves.” He recites expertly. “What does that mean?”

Cleo looks over at him like he had just grown a second head, the woman staring blankly towards the man as if his tongue had just accidentally spoken welsh and she was waiting for him to realize.  “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The letter?” He emphasizes. “The one with the instructions?”

“Yeah?” She replies expectantly.

“You know, ‘Dear Hermit, you are cordially invited…?” He continues on.

“Yes, we know the letter, Joe. We understand about the letter. That’s not the issue here.”

“Ok, well you seemed to not know what I was talking about, so.”

“I mean, not particularly, no.” She accords. “I know the letter, but where are you getting this advice from?”

“…At the bottom?” He produces a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “It says right here. ‘I will offer you each this piece of advice’. Look. See?”

Cleo takes the letter, unfolding the parchment and reading the message scrawled across it. She reads it again.

A beat.

“Mine does not say that.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t!” She insists. “I don’t—“

“Did yours not have the advice on it then?” He wonders.

“I mean it did? Sort of?” She sounds confused. “If you can call that advice, I mean? Like it said something or other about death, I think. Like look—“ she rummages in her own pockets, producing a similarly folded letter. She unfolds it, skimming through its contents as if to be sure, before confidently handing it to Joe. “Yeah. Look there.”

He does look. He reads it twice. Three times. Indeed, the remainder of her letter had been identical, but there at the bottom, written in the same scrawl, was a different passage.

—

You have so long feared death that you have not seen the promise in it. It is as natural as life itself. The ending that proceeds the beginning.

—

“You have so long feared death that you have not seen the promise in it?” He questions.

“Figured it was some crack about how we were going to die a lot.” She shrugs.

“But why would you get this and not me?” He questions before gesturing to his own letter. “Why would I get this and not you?”

“I dunno, Joe. Why does anyone do anything if not to perplex you specifically.” Cleo retorts.

“Maybe it was part of our challenge then?” Joe ignores her. “Like…if we each started somewhere different… maybe these are different because they were supposed to be clues meant to help us escape?”

“Well fat lotta good that did, seeing as we’ve already made it ou’ and we still don’t understand the bloody clues! ”

“Well they must be for something.” He muses. “We just haven’t worked out what... ” His brow furrows in concentration. “All we know so far is that whoever brought us here, for some reason , seems to need the Hermits. And ostensibly seems to need, and/or want us together…”

Cleo shakes her head. “So why bother separating us at all?”

“Is it possible we’re supposed to want to be together?” He suggests. “I dunno, maybe distance makes the heart grow stronger and all that.”

“…Does it?” Cleo questions. “ That feels like a lie.”

“No, you’re right, you’re just as disconcerting as you were before.” He quips instantly.

“ Wow! Joe! ” Cleo laughs incredulously. Joe smirks to himself. “I’ll leave! That’s fine! I can do this on my own!”

“Oh no! However shall I progress forward?!” He teases. “What leagues could I achieve if I only had the means to go on! Guess I shall just have to continue to follow this here compass in the blind hopes of reaching a mutual destination shared with my good friend ZombieCleo. Whom, until quite recently in fact, I was not aware possessed the esteemed power of duplication , thus enabling a dual possession of said navigational device, hereby allowing the exclusive rights of individual exploration, and I wish to commend them on this sudden emergence of such fantastical mastery.” He flashes their compass towards her with an amused smirk.

“Ok, you can shove righ ’ off at this point!” She exclaims, her accent thick, and he immediately capitalizes off of this excessive slip.

“ Righ’ .” Joe teases again, mimicking her intonation to the best of his ability - a horrible attempt and horrendously inaccurate, but one that accomplishes precisely what it is meant to.

“ Oooh! Don’t you get on to me just because my accent comes out when I’m pissed! Don’t you start on me!” Cleo exclaims again, and Joe only smiles wider, thoroughly impressed with himself at having pushed the correct buttons sufficient for annoyance. She had been right before, after all. Annoying Cleo was definitely among his favourite avenues of enrichment. Cleo chuckles incredulously. “Jerk!”

Joe laughs along, but does not continue further. After all, there was only so far he was realistically willing to push her, and while he could probably get away with it for longer if he tried, he doesn’t really want to push his luck today. After all, tomorrow was always a new day.

They walk further on, chatting idly about one topic or the next. Nothing in particular on occasions, in others more serious, until eventually Joe glances down at the face of their compass, frowns, and wordlessly calls them both to a halt.

Cleo immediately throws him a quizzical look.  “Why are we stopping?” She questions.

Joe takes a testing sort of step backwards before simply turning the compass face around towards her, an equally perplexed sort of expression dawning his features as he takes in the state of their current surroundings. “…We’re here.”