Chapter Text
The moon is big, the world is ending, and the Boatem Hole beckons them home.
Grian is in full business mode, shouting like a drill sergeant as Pearl firmly chivvies an exhausted Mumbo into Scar's rocketship. Meteors smash down around the server, sending up choking clouds of ash as the Hermits flee through every available path, flung in disparate directions like so many shards of rubble.
On the edge of their home, Impulse stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the crumbling ruin of his factory. A grinding noise rings out as a chuck of the wall calves off, and he flinches. The tactile memory of placing each block, smoothing the walls and setting the floorplan, runs through his body. His mind's involuntary replay of the hours wasted spent laying brick after brick is interrupted by an arm looping through his.
At his side, Pearl smiles tremulously, eyes shining with the blistering moonlight. "It's alright buddy, c'mon. No time at all-we'll be all safe in season nine."
Impulse nods, and lets himself be led into the rocket. The door hisses shut and the rockets beneath them revv, a gentle roar that builds as they gain momentum, shooting down and down and down toward the void below the world.
Just as the rocket's nose pokes fully into open space, a massive chunk of lunar rock slams into what was once the Boatem Pole. The shuddering, teeth-rattling impact travels down the walls of the Hole and into the rear of the ship, juddering it beyond what the autopilot is prepared to correct. Despite his best efforts, the course Scar has set is erased, and a new path is laid in for them.
Inside the reinforced walls of the craft, the weary refugees settle in, dirty and shaken, unaware of the unavoidable yaw their vessel has taken on.
The rocket heads into emptiness and nothing, safely away from the shattered remains of Hermitcraft Season 8, and unknowingly towards a much darker world, shattered in deeper, deadlier ways.
Impulse is jolted out of sleep as the rocketship's autopilot sets them down in their new home. The landing is rougher than expected, tossing them about the tiny cabin they've spent the last several units of time crammed within. A gentle chime rings through the air, announcing a safe landing and encouraging the passengers' rapid exit from the now-defunct craft.
As Scar had explained during the interminable journey beween servers, their escape vessel was perfectly void-worthy (for now) but would probably only be good for the one trip, seeing as it had been thrown together in rather a hurry.
The harried players are quick to disembark, still frazzled from their rapid escape. As Impulse studies his friends' faces, he sees a mix of emotions reflected back at him. Relief—due to being back on solid ground. Grief—from the sudden loss of their home. Fear—at the nagging thought that they might not see all their friends again.
As Impulse steps off the ships stairs and gets his first look at their new server, all his emotions are washed away by a wave of disorientation. He's never been deeply involved in the process of choosing a new sever, but he's listened to Tango rant about it throughout the years, and he knows what type of server Xisuma generally looks for. The Hermits love space, they enjoy interesting terrain features, and they need a vast variety of biomes in order to supply their builds.
This is…none of that.
The ground is dry and ashy, pockmarked with holes. The ship has managed to set itself down in a relatively flat area, but that seems be uncommonly good luck. All around them, as far as the eye can see, huge crags of rock jut into the sky. They twist and stab around each other, splitting like the dead branches of some ancient tree. There is barely any color, no grass, no trees, even the rock surrounding them is an oppressive, uniform gray, with maybe a spatter of andesite and diorite. The sky is wrong, with thick layers of clouds inching by, and no sign of the sun at all. The landscape obscures any horizon, giving the place a horrible sense of foreverness.
Impulse hears a stuttered gasp as Pearl crunches to the ground beside him. When he looks over, her eyes are wide and devastated.
"Who-who did this? What happened?"
"I-I don't-" He's cut off as a harsh wind whips up, pelting them with dust and debris. Scar is sent into a coughing fit, and Grian bustles him back into the shelter of the gutted rocketship.
As they hurry away, Mumbo gestures widely around their landing spot. "This is…someone's been here. And gone. They've made this place a mess."
As Impulse looks closer, he realizes Mumbo is right. All around them are the signs of careless players. Half-cut, scorched trees stand forgotten in what must have been a massive forest. Tunnels descend into the earth for unknown lengths, unmarked and easy for an unsuspecting traveler to fall into. Most of the rock spires that make up the world have been torn into, mined dry. Whoever inhabits this server has drained it of what little resources it has.
It's clear this land has seen plenty of combat as well. There are deep wounds that can only come from TnT, the ground is blistered with evidence of huge fires, and crimson lava oozes from beneath obsidian scabs, lending the scene an ominous glow.
From the doorway, Grian stares out at them with bright eyes. As he steps down from the remains of the ship, he voices the thought blaring through all their heads. "This…oh, this can't be right. This isn't Hermitcraft."
Impulse is standing on a low jut of rock, surveying the area, when he hears Grian shouting for him. In a quick, not at all fun group meeting, Boatem had collectively decided not to venture too far from their landing site. The rocket was non-functional now, but it was shelter and protection in a world that was increasingly showing signs of hostility. Scar was definitively banned from exploring, on the grounds that they had no idea what the respawn situation was on this server, and they didn't need him to find every cliff in the vicinity. Grian was hovering, so Impulse, Pearl, and Mumbo had drawn straws to see who would go on lookout duty first.
When Impulse had lost, Mumbo had clapped his shoulder and told him not to 'be a hero.' Impulse refrained from explaining that he had no intentions of getting anywhere close to any situation that would require heroics.
Impulse starts toward the others just as Grian's voice goes quiet. There's a moment of stillness, then Grian vaults out of the rocket, barely touching the ground before he's hurtling forward. Clearly tired of waiting, he throws Impulse's arm over his shoulder and starts marching him towards the others.
Inside their shelter, Mumbo hovers over Scar, who is sprawled awkwardly atop a chair, breathing heavy. HIe eyes are unfocused, and his mouth hangs open in shock.
With a sinking in his chest, Impulse recognizes the emotions playing over his face—terror, and confusion, and deep unease. The urgency in his voice startles all of them when he speaks.
"What did-who did you see?"
"I saw…" Scar trails off, fingers grasping weakly for an explanation. "I didn't see anything real. It was all shapes and color and-" Impulse can't help but jump in, somehow already knowing the answer: "Blood?"
Scar looks sharply towards him, expression tense, then nods, still too far away. "Blood, and…it wasn't here. I knew, I was nowhere near here, but I was on Hermitcraft. Just for that teensy second."