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Only BigB would be relieved to find himself in the Backrooms. He sighs in relief at the sight of the foreboding caverns. His feet ache from his fall and dangerous trek through the caves, and he despises how his own breath and heartbeat feel so loud. He’s alone, he knows. But who might hear him?
Of course it’d be Scar, chasing after him. Of course he would fall into his own trap. BigB creeps through the Backrooms with half-purposeful stealth. Every movement is a frightening risk when he’s this close to death. And what good did it do to be stealthy, anyway? What’s the point of staying here? He could only hide out for so long before Scar came looking for him and knew exactly where to look. His wounds literally can’t heal, there’s no point in nursing them. He could die in a hole or die on the surface. Alone. All alone.
He approaches the exit of the Backrooms. It’s too late before he hears the tenfold skittering of wolf claws on stone. He is already turning the corner, and there stands Scott.
“Oh, my—”
“Hi, BigB,” Scott greets, cheerful as ever.
“You scared me so much,” BigB admits. He backs into the cavern.
Scott just laughs—not cackles. He never acts red, even with a sword in his hand and a pack of wolves at his feet. His armor is starlight pale and uncannily clean of blood, but not for lack of bloodshed. “You’re fine for now. Everyone else is in the sky, just dropping dripstone and stuff, trying to build another tower to get them.” He shrugs. As casual as complaining about errands he has to run. “I don’t want to kill you, but there’s no one else to do things with.”
“I’d just like to finish something first.” BigB says. “Before I die, at least.”
A scrutinous frown forms on Scott’s face. BigB plays this card with practiced ease. Don’t kill me now. You can kill me if you come back later. What could I possibly do if you let me live for a few more minutes? I was actually planning to die at 4:30, not 4:00; would it ruin your schedule to postpone my death? Please? Thank you.
“Yeah, I’ll leave you,” Scott replies, whistling to his wolves to follow him back up the stairs. “I’ll come back.” He would return to his allies baffled by his own failure. It was BigB. I just couldn’t kill him.
BigB smiles. “Thanks. Thank you.”
He turns and bolts the other way as soon as Scott is gone, quick to block up that exit, and to scramble up the other tight stone staircase in the dark. He can’t stay underground forever. Something has to give. Someone has to go.
Boom. Thunder roars.
< Etho was slain by GoodTimeWithScar. >
Not comforting, with Scar’s crooning taunts fresh in his ears. Maybe, at least, that means Scar is distracted. Cleo and Grian were still kicking, surely he’ll be after them next. Or they’ll be after him. Cleo certainly would.
BigB imagines that’s how alliances should be—going down together, or giving yourself up for each other, or running down foes for vengeance. That’s how Skizz and Tango seemed to think, at least, but BigB had been on the dealing end of betrayals and the receiving end of revenge and both ends of dying alone, too early and too late, and staunch loyalty really loses its luster when it's drenched in enough blood. BigB isn't in the habit of throwing himself on any swords. The Heart Foundation was more loyal to him than he’d been to them, anyway. They’re dead now. He doesn’t have to think about them. There’s safety, even strength, in solitude. Everyone knows that. He’ll be fine on his own. Yeah. Completely fine. It’s better this way.
After a moment to steel his nerves, he pushes through the door to the surface. Torches light the ground, but the sky is dark, and BigB clings to the trees for cover. He takes his spyglass and scans the horizon. There’s Impulse, alongside Gem and Scott, and further right—
Blazing red eyes. A hood of shadow.
BigB lets out a shaky laugh. “Hey, Scar…”
Boom.
< InTheLittleWood was shot by Grian. >
The dark illuminates in a split-second flash. For a moment Scar stands clad in black on the horizon, when the lightning above makes him a silhouette of sallow white light, a colorless spectre of death. His eyes lock on his next target.
Oh, no.
A sound like a pop rings out as an ender pearl shatters, and in BigB’s spyglass, Scar is gone. “Hey, BigB!”
He yelps and as blades hurdle through his vision, there’s a clash of diamond between their swords. Pain rips through every joint in BigB’s arm with the strain of holding Scar back. Scar is grinning through their crossed blades. “BigB!” he echoes again.
The adrenaline-fueled instinct that guided BigB’s sword seems to leave him now. He swings again and misses, swiping at a tree instead.
He’s lightheaded. He has to say something. Can’t I live a little longer? He can’t say anything.
“BigB strong, BigB powerful!” Scar continues to taunt, and his sword bludgeons BigB’s damaged chestplate like a punch to the gut that doesn’t retract. The cracking of ribs is both felt and heard under the dent. More reds are approaching, Gem and Scott like vultures waiting on a meal that’s yet to die. It hardly even matters, because they all wear matching grins, all teeth, thirsty for blood, and their words are no more than the growling of wolves.
Their swords all pummel him. Dull blows turn sharp and stinging. Armor splinters. There are no more words to speak, much less ears to listen.
Would Skizz and Tango have wanted this? he thinks, and finds himself bemused at how foreign the thought seems. What did he care? What had that alliance meant, after he lied over their corpses and ran and hid? When had he ever considered that before?
It’s not just one life that flashes before his eyes, now, but five, as he asked the questions he never chose to ask before. Would Pearl have wanted to chop up her time for me? Would Ren be content for Grian to kill him, the one I went behind his back for? Was Cleo’s revenge enough for her to even the scales? Did the Red Army think me strong to outlive them, or cowardly not to die with honor?
BigB never tends to die with honor. Words are not his sword, but his shield, and he cannot manage to raise it.
“I’m sorry,” he thinks he hears Scott say, impassive and impersonal.
Even his enemies stand at arms-length when they kill him.