Chapter Text
A shriek carried through the walls surrounding him as Grian sprinted up the claustrophobic tunnel Tango had dug to escape his Warden. The sound echoed through his bones, and he gasped as he felt the vibrations knock the air out of him, felt his ribs shatter and rattle against each other. Blood poured from his ears.
His surroundings, his vision flew into bullet-time, and a rush of guilt and pain hit him heavily, leaving him just as breathless as the attack from the eldritch faerie had. Scar, where was Scar? Was he — no, he wasn’t safe, Grian was dying, and he could feel the vibrations travel down the soul line connecting him to Scar. But was he alone? Surely not, the last Grian had seen him he’d been with… who was it, Pearl? Pearl and Scar were good friends. He must be with Pearl. Please, gods, let him be with Pearl.
Grian attempted a shaky breath inwards, but was left gasping as his lungs couldn’t seem to fill. Blood trickled from his lips as he scrambled up the tight stone path, pushing at the cobblestone behind him to fall, trying desperately to block himself from the Warden’s voice.
Tried, and tried, to no avail. Another shriek so high Grian could barely hear it rang through the stone behind him, and Grian felt his senses beginning to shut down. He hadn’t been able to see since he left the main tunnel, but now all he could hear was a high-pitched ringing, all he could feel was the feeling of his bones cracking and splintering into his flesh, tearing at him from the inside out.
The whole tunnel shook. Grian cried out as he fell to the ground, a rock splitting from the ceiling and crashing down onto his head. Throbbing pain bloomed from his skull, and he screamed, loud enough that it too shook the crumbling stone around him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Scar, I’m sorry!” He cried out into the dark tunnel ahead of him, hoping somehow, wherever he was, Scar would hear.
Another rock fell on him, pulling another scream from his aching, bleeding lungs, this time over his legs, rendering him truly immobile. Another shriek. Another rock. Pain, and blood, trickling down his forehead, into his eyes. The world began slipping away from him. First the cold, stone floor, then the pressure of the rocks crushing his organs and bones, then the ringing, then, finally, the pain slipped away too. The last thing he felt was a tether snapping, flying away from him.
At last, he was alone.
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The first thing Grian registered upon waking up was the soft sway of grass around him, the gentle pressure of the earth at his back. He groaned, and blinked his eyes open, only to immediately squeeze them shut again when a beam of light shone directly into them. He held them shut as he got his elbows under himself, then brought a hand up to block the light as he sat up and took in his surroundings. Trees surrounded him on all sides, dappled sunlight falling through the leaves above him.
He took a deep breath in, revelling in the feeling of air filling his lungs, and examined his body that had been shattered mere moments before. No gashes, or even bruises, laid on his skin, his body fixed to the point that if the memories and feelings weren’t so vivid, and his eyes weren’t so Open, Grian could believe it had all just been a nightmare. Good. The code was still working as it should.
There had been many long nights of negotiation with Them to achieve this inbetween time. They had been hungry, and if he was honest with himself, Grian had been too. He couldn’t have put it off much longer unless he wanted Them to interfere more than they already had, but it was the least he could do to give his friends, his family, those who had given him a home when he’d Escaped, some time to live between all the fighting and fear.
He took a better look around him, and was surprised to see the trees sporting the colour and leaves of oak trees. He didn’t remember spawning near the small oak forest that had become home to the Box, but he could be wrong. You could only wake up in a strange arena so many times before your memory of it got a little hazy.
Standing up, he spotted a small, well-trodden path that seemed to lead out of the trees, and began following it. At the very least, it would take him out of the trees, and he’d be able to spot some sort of landmark to orientate himself. He wondered if that godawful heart Martyn had built in the middle of the arena was still there. Hopefully not. If he was going to spend however long between games here, he should not have to deal with ugly builds. Maybe he’d destroy it if it was still there.
He walked down the path for a while, slightly surprised at the lushness of the greenery around him. He didn’t remember the forest in the arena having this many flowers. Maybe he’d just missed them; he had been pretty preoccupied any time he’d visited the Box.
Grian continued down the path, shrugging off the dissimilarities. At least, he tried to. That was until he came across a pond, not unlike the one that drowned his dreams in blood and choked him with fear. A bolt of terror ran through him, and Grian took off down the path. He fluttered his wings behind him as he ran, trying as best he could to get out of the forest as fast as he could.
The treeline eventually broke, and Grian stopped looking. He couldn’t look. He just had to get out. The earth under him slowly changed from soil and grass to sand as his strides took more effort, the sand sliding beneath his feet rather than pushing back at them. Eventually, he stopped, and fell to his knees with the sudden movement. Burning tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he heaved for breath, shaking all the while.
He held himself tightly, hands wrapped over his chest and squeezing his arms almost painfully. The game was over. He was safe. He was supposed to go to his home, to the Keep, not — not here. He hadn’t been here since he’d let himself fall from that sandy cliff to his demise. He’d gone to the winner’s void first, then after the second game, he had spent the months in the Southlands. There was no reason he should be here.
A sudden fury rose in him as he realised who must have put him here. It was Them, playing their games with him again. Of course it was. Because no matter how much he did to keep Them satiated, no matter how many of his friends he sacrificed to be their playthings, They still just had to fuck with him and toss him into Their stupid little games for Their fickle amusement.
They were not going to get away with this. They were supposed to send him home, or at least back to the Red Velvet Keep, not to the place that still woke him up in a cold sweat.
He shakily got to his feet, and headed towards the arena’s barrier. Oh, They were going to pay for this, They —
For the first time since arriving, Grian looked around at the desert.
The castle stood tall as ever, no signs of battle or explosion. That wasn’t the concerning part of what he saw, though. What was concerning was that it was surrounded by fields of wheat, carrots, and potatoes. A small waterfall had somehow formed, falling from the top of the mountain into a little pond at the bottom that had moss and reeds growing in and around it. Palm trees sprouted from the sand here and there, framing the mountain and the castle in a way that was just a little too perfect to be natural. A wooden pen had been built at the bottom of the mountain, filled with cows, llamas, and sheep.
All of this was, in fact, very concerning to Grian. He had been the last player in the arena, and that definitely was not how he’d left Monopoly Mountain.
But what was probably the most concerning thing, at least to Grian, was the sight of a man walking out of the door of the sand castle, carrying what looked to be a basket of some sort in both arms, wearing a hat and an open, button-down t-shirt. Grian froze.
The man looked in his direction. Grian wanted to hide, but there was nowhere he could have hidden. That’s what he hated about the desert. Anyone could see you, no matter where they were.
The man froze, and dropped his basket, the contents spilling out onto the sand.
A terrible knot formed in Grian’s chest, guilt, anxiety, and fury burning deep into his stomach.
Atop the mountain, what felt like a million miles away, stood Scar.