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Grian was falling, and all he could think was dammit.
People always say that time slows down, when you’re about to die. Grian could fully say that was a load of BS, because he only had a few seconds of panic and screaming before everything went black with a loud crunch.
[Grian fell from a high place]
In the very next second, he jolted awake in his bunker, sitting up so fast he nearly banged his head on the ceiling. And . . . there was something on his lap.
Grian looked down, every movement sending jolts of agony through his back and head and ow .
There was a dog on his lap, looking rather concerned - well, as concerned as dogs can look. Its ears flattened to its head as it whined pitifully.
“Sorry bud,” Grian lifted shaky hands to push the dog off, probably being a bit too rough, “Just a bit shaken up.”
He stared at his hands, still in his lap, for a concerning amount of time, trying to gather his thoughts. His skin was too tight, and there was a buzzing behind his eyes that made his head hurt in a way adjacent to being stabbed.
He slowly became aware of a dull pain in one of his wings, spreading up and through his back. He carefully stretched it out, the largest feathers brushing the walls, soot stained and dirty, he hadn’t had time for preening in a long while. Sure enough, there was an arrow stuck through it - not hurting nearly as much as it should.
“Well.” Grian huffed, reaching out to tap on the arrow and just barely holding back a wince at the sharp pain that snapped through him, “Explains why I couldn’t fly. Lucky shot.”
With his wings extended, there was really very little room in his small bunker. His breaths came in short bursts as the reality of what just happened settled in, the post-respawn haze floating away.
He had died. He was red.
“Oh fuck. ” He wheezed out, the red tint on the corners of his vision making his eyes burn, “ Fuck. ”
He - He felt red, could taste ash in the back of his mouth, his heartbeat erratic. It sped and sped, thudding through his body, he knew it wouldn’t slow until it stopped. It was almost - almost nostalgic.
He had been far too busy to really experience it, last time -
(His legs were burning, running across the map - only an iron sword in hand. Eyes full of angry tears and betrayal. Traitor, traitor!)
Yeah, he had had other things on his mind at the time.
Grian curled in on himself, a pained keen bubbling from his lips as the movement jostled around the arrow.
He licked his lips, he had to get that out. Ohhh, but that was gonna hurt.
He let out a shaky breath, before carefully lifting his hands and wrapping one around the arrow, using the other to brace himself against the wall. Grian tugged on it gently, biting back a pained hiss.
Fuck. Fuck.
Maybe he could just . . .
With less than a thought, Purple fire danced across his hand, dipping the small cavern into a dark glow. It was cool to the touch, feeling oh so right where it touched his skin. The temptation to burn that false skin away was almost too much to bear. It spread to the arrow, and within moments the blasted thing was ash.
It was then, staring at the slowly healing hole in his wing that he would have to bandage up by himself that he realized - he was alone. He was all alone - his alliances, the southlands, he couldn’t - he could never go back to that.
(Raising a spyglass with a cheeky grin, looking for diamonds with Mumbo, Aha!)
He had . . . lost everything. Everyone.
They were going to turn their backs on him, they - they were going to leave. He had built those lands, united them and made them all happy - together. That didn’t matter in the end, though, did it? No, of course not, all that mattered was winning, following the rules.
And just like that, Grian was left behind again - betrayed again.
Just like that. Did he really matter so little?
“What are the odds,” He whispered into the dark, voice quiet, “That I win this? That I survive?”
Low. They were low. Being red so soon? He would never make it.
“Oh fuck,” He laughed weakly, and the sound was only a little bit manic, “I’m going to die. I’m going to die.”
And for a moment, Grian simply stared dazedly at the wall, his eyes unfocused. He . . . he was going to die.
Grian had always been living on borrowed time, ever since he ran away from Them - but now, now he felt it. Every second ticking away.
It was enough to drive him mad.
“I’m not . . . going out without a fight.” Grian resolved, pushing himself off the bed and into a standing position, hissing at the walls, “I’m . . . taking you down with me.”
And who the hell knew who he was talking to. Joel, Scar, The southlands?
Everyone. He was going to take everyone down with him.
He remembered hiding, of wrapping himself in magic and lies, of knowing that if They found him they would kill him and everyone he knew, the people he cared about - their faces were blurry, w ho? - he remembered promising himself that he would never use his magic, because it would kill everyone.
Heh. It would kill everyone, huh? That sounded just like what the doctor ordered.
“I’m going to die.” He murmured into the cold air, knowing no one was listening, no one was w atching, “You’re going to die too.”
A shaky grin found its way to his face, and he reached up a hand to feel the singular set of eyes. He turned his hand to the side, covering both eyes entirely. Sparks danced on his eyelids.
It was with a soft laugh filled with a sort of mania that Grian let himself unfold.
(It was with a soft laugh that a monster was born.)
He reached forward with one clawed hand, stained black with the ash of the void. Lifting his book with clumsy, overeager hands, he flipped to his List. A bit of gold tinted blood dripped onto the page, from where his eyes had carved into his flesh to pull themselves open. He tried to brush it aside, only serving to smear it all over the page. His face split into a grin, he could taste copper and ash and stardust in the back of his throat.
Grian had been red before, but more importantly - he had spent a very long time in the presence of a red life. He knew how they worked, better than most, he was willing to bet.
Red lifers often became . . . fixated on something from before. Something important, or maybe the last thing they thought about.
Scar had gotten so very invested in his business, Scott, his husband's death, for Grian it had been Scar’s betrayal.
He could already feel his new core - a dark piece of his soul screaming about how if Scar hadn’t double crossed him he wouldn’t even be red.
Double crossed for the second time, when would Grian learn not to trust liars , words like honey - sickeningly sweet.
He hated him. He hated him.
“Ohh, Scar.” He crooned, voice echoing back and multiplying, “You should have taken my deal, you’re really in trouble, now.”
Oh, Grian had missed being him.
-------------------
Joel might have made a mistake. A slight miscalculation, a whoopsie, even.
But it was less so a oh-dang-it-I-forgot-the-milk sorta mistake and more an oopsie-I-accidentally-set-off-a-nuclear-bomb-my-bad thing.
When he had first climbed up the nether roof and seen Grian standing on the edge, it had been a no brainer to shoot him. Really, when life gives you lemons, and all that. Actually, that might not be what that phrase means.
He was so alone, everyone ran in fear, chased him out - he had wanted, no, needed, someone with him. He couldn’t be alone anymore. And - well, Grian was nice enough, when he wasn’t completely foiling Joel’s traps, so it was with only the slightest hesitation that he pulled back that bow and fired.
He had doomed Grian to the same isolation he had suffered through, but they would have each other, at least. Did that make it ok? It didn’t matter, he couldn’t be alone anymore. He’d go mad - well, madder.
Anyway, he hadn’t hesitated to take the shot. Now, he’s kinda wishing he had. In his defense, what the fuck?
“I don’t know how to feel about this,” Says the thing that might be Grian if you really squinted, “I - I don’t know how to feel about you , Joel.”
The thing - and yeah, now that he had gotten closer, it was definitely Grian, signature red sweater and all - was so very clearly not human. At least twenty pairs of eyes were haphazardly strewn across his face, looking to have been carved open, blood dripped from them like some demented sort of tears, trailing down his cheeks and neck, wetting his sweater. There was a nauseating red and purple swirl in place of pupils, like the pattern of a nether portal, and they kinda made Joel want to run away as fast as he possibly could.
Multiple pairs of deep purple wings with glimmering white spots like stars, stained red at the tips, hung limply from Grian’s back, eyes sprouting from the feathers, staring unseeingly at the sky - or maybe seeing too much - they dragged across the ground with no effect on the surrounding area, the grass not even bothering to crumple beneath them, to keep up the pretense of normality.
Unnatural , some base part of him screams, mutilated , he thinks.
Whatever happened to Grian, it wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t painless
“Grian, Wha -” Joel managed to stutter out, taking a few steps backwards, “What happened to you?”
Did I do this? Is the unasked question.
The thing that used to be Grian chuckled, the sound piercing Joel’s brain in a way that made him want to claw his ears off.
Sometimes, if Joel focused very hard, he could feel things. The energy of the world thrumming through his veins, corrupted, the warmth and blood of every living thing. If he focused very hard, he could feel his place in the ever changing, ever moving whole.
Now, he doesn’t have to focus at all, because this thing in front of him is everything, and everything is it.
“I’ve been like this for a very, very long time, Joel.” Grian raised his arms - stained black at the fingertips - in a very dramatic gesture, “I couldn’t be me, before. It would have killed me, destroyed everything, but now . Now I can be me.”
“What do you mean, destroy everything?” Joel asked nervously, moving back even farther, just for good measure.
“I mean,” Grian paused, smiling so widely the edges of his mouth split and began to slowly drip blood, it wasn’t a happy smile, “Destroy everything, kill everyone, burn this place to the ground. I’ve been hiding for so long, in fear, running away - not anymore. This will kill me, but it’ll kill you too.”
“You’re not - you’re not making any sense, Grian.” Joel reached down to rest his hand on his sword, he was under no illusion that he could win that fight, but dammit, he would go down swinging.
He always did. He fought so hard - and failed every time.
He lost everything over and over again.
“I’m a runaway, and the people - no, the things looking for me, they’ll destroy the server when they find me - a punishment,” Grian chuckled softly, a dull sound with no real amusement, only bittered despair, “I’m done hiding, I’ve practically set up a beacon and a huge sign labeled ‘here I am!’”
Grian paused for a few seconds, and Joel did his best to get his wits back about him. It didn’t work, and he was left feeling slightly woozy with overwhelming emotion.
He was so emotional , now.
“I’m taking you down with me.” Grian said finally, all of that toxic glee gone from his face, replaced by pain and determination, “I’ll not be abandoned again.”
“Why - why would you -” Joel was red, he understood the bloodlust, the anger and fear and loneliness that drove so many to murder. He understood that, he was feeling that. He didn’t think, however, that he understood Grian. “I get killing, but you - you’re just going to -”
He couldn’t finish, his words drying up in his throat at the look Grian was giving him. Pain and loss and misery, above all that - desperation. Ah, that he could understand.
“I - I’m not going to win this Joel. I’ll die either way, think of this -” He waved a hand down at himself, “One last stand, my last chance, and something no one can fight. If they come for me - no one will survive. And I - I won’t have to die alone.”
Grian paused then, casting his eyes to the sky, seemingly trying to decide if he wanted to say something or not.
“I’m all alone. I’ll die alone, too.” His voice was shaky now, and Joel mentally made some snarky remark about mood swings that died before it made its way to his mouth, “They’ve all left me alone, I don’t - I don’t want to be alone.”
Alone. They were both alone.
Joel sat in silence for a few seconds, about to make a very bad decision.
Or a very good one.
“Do you wanna be friends?” Joel asked, trying his best to give a reassuring smile, “We can - work together?”
Grian stared at him, something that was very odd and vaguely unsettling when he was covered in eyes.
“We, uh, we have an axolotl.” Joel offered, trying his best to lighten the mood a bit.
It actually worked, which was almost more surprising than anything else they had spoken about, as Grian cracked a small smile that seemed much more genuine than the others he offered, his teeth piercing his lip slightly and sending a small drip of blood down his chin.
Joel couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid, anymore.
The same, they were the same. Alone - willing to do anything to have someone.
(When is a monster not a monster?)
(Why, when it is loved.)
“Friends, huh?” Grian smiled softly, eyes coloring more purple than red, before that smile fell, “You’ll still die, though. They’re coming for me.”
Joel decided to gently step around that ominous kinda-a-threat-but-not-really.
“I’ve been knowin that, Grian,” Joel smirked, feeling rather confident in his nihilism, “I was the first to be a red life, It was pretty obvious I wasn’t gonna win.”
“My thoughts about me exactly,” Grian laughed lightly, and the sound was only slightly maddening, “God, we red lifers are so pessimistic.”
“It comes with being a bad trip away from dead,” Joel joked, recalling how Grian had almost been blown up by one of his traps just earlier, all because he was being a bit snoopy, “I think we’re allowed.”
“Hell yeah we are.” Grian turned away, opening his wings slightly, was he allowed to fly? “Well, I’m gonna go. People to see, enemies to threaten, you know how it is.”
He did know. Joel hoped that Grian had more luck with the whole ‘threatening enemies’ thing than Joel had been having.
“Yeah, hey -” Joel asked before Grian could fly away, “Are you allowed to fly?”
“Nope.” Grian smirked, and took off into the sky with a great flap of his purple-red wings. Joel watched silently until he was only a speck.
“Madlad.” Joel murmured, shaking his head as he walked away.
Maybe . . . maybe he didn’t have to be alone.
( We find comfort in the damned, because we know we need not suffer alone.)