Mel

Grian hops off the overlooking hilltop, fluttering to an abrupt landing in front of Pearl. “Who are you talking to?” he asks urgently.

“Who are you with?” Gem asks from the top of the hill. Her ears rove in every direction, nose wrinkling as she scents the wind; gathering information about her surroundings while she keeps her eyes on Pearl.

It’s the most natural thing in the world for Gem to keep Pearl in her direct line of vision. Her species is technically prey to Pearl’s- a deeply buried piece of data they’re both aware of but pay little mind to. Pearl doesn’t take any offense by the way Gem sometimes stomps the ground and snorts in challenge, no more than Gem takes offense to the way Pearl’s eyes dilate when she breathes in her scent. There’s no easy prey here and they both know it.

Pearl turns her head so she’s not making eye contact with either of them, signaling no threat. “I’m just with myself,” she hums, “I’m talkin’ to me.”

Gem’s face brightens. “You’re by yourself? Well, that’s great news!”

“That’s great news,” Grian echoes. He tilts his head in little twitches and jerks that snatch Pearl’s attention. Rapid movements signal prey behavior to her wolf code, but he always stares at her head-on like a predator.

And it’s not to do with the fact that his eyes are set into a human skull. Jimmy’s an avian, too, and he doesn’t stare at her like that. He almost always views her out the side of his eye. Face slightly turned away, feathers slightly ruffled. Like a part of him is always waiting to take flight.

Grian looks like he’s always waiting to strike. And Pearl finds herself wondering, not for the first time, just exactly what kind of bird he is.

“Pearl,” Grian chirps eagerly, “I just explained to Gem, I’m tryin’ to like- I came into this series for the first time ever with a team in mind, and it’s you, it’s me, and it’s Gem. What do you think?”

Pearl’s heart skips a beat. “I like that team,” she says, her tail starting to wag low and loose. She looks at Gem, mouth falling open into a wolf’s grin. “That’s a great team.”

At the same time, she’s already reminding herself not to get her hopes up. She’s cautious out of habit. She’s learned over these games that it’s hard to find a pack, a true pack, in a world where only one of them can make it to the end. But that doesn’t stop her from wanting it. Wanting to find somewhere soft to curl up and call home, warmed by bodies pressed against her, comforted by the scents of safety and good hunting. Wanting to be wanted.

Gem smiles back at her, satisfaction glimmering in her green eyes, before she exchanges a knowing look with Grian. She pats Pearl on the head as she trots past her, and Pearl has to fight the urge to lean into it. “Good. I think so, too.”

Grian is watching them with a certain glint in his eye. “I just said- I’m gonna find the strongest members, and here we are.”

“Already found a spider spawner,” Gem says appraisingly.

Pearl ducks her head. “It’s a good start,” she amends, and then because she physically can’t help herself- “But you know everyone dies when they’re with me, right? You know that?”

“We turn up,” Grian continues talking to Gem, as if Pearl hasn’t spoken, “and she’s already proven to be the most competent player.”

Pearl’s lips press into a tight smile. None of them are strangers to tragedy, it goes hand-in-hand with these games. But if Grian and Gem want to pretend things will be different this time, want to ignore her warning, she’s happy to let them. She’ll be the sole keeper of this knowledge until its inevitable conclusion.

They fall into an easy rhythm, then. Gathering supplies, cobbling together a crude base, venturing down into the mines. All the day one things that need to be done in every new world, regardless of a death game going on. It’s comfortable and fun- if not slightly undercut by the thrum of anticipation that permeates the air. It’s as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the fragile peace to shatter.

“Okay but like, socially, what’s the plan?” Grian asks eventually. “Are we… ‘cause, you know, there’s not really rules, they’re more like… suggestions.” His gaze darts between them, head jerking and bobbing, wings ruffling. “Are we just- can we just, like… take every- everyone else’s stuff?”

Pearl pauses. There’s a strange, almost guarded tone to his voice. Like the first slow, careful step onto a frozen lake, testing to see if it cracks. She lets out a heavy breath through bared teeth. “I mean… you’re the rulemaker,” she murmurs, reluctant to leave the shoreline.

Gem springs onto that lake, crashing through the ice with powerful hooves. “We should just go ahead and full on do it and make enemies, ‘cause everybody on the server already doesn’t like me very much.” She idly flicks an ear, unbothered by the cold. Steam curls from her mouth. “I know people don’t like me. So I think we should lean into it, we should be three villains.”

“We should just- that’s what I was thinking,” Grian exclaims, eyes flashing with excitement as he follows her in deeper. Water droplets roll down his feathers like moonlight. “We just be the villains. Like, everyone’s too scared to be the villains- I’m not scared to be a villain. You scared to be a villain?”

Gem lifts her chin, tossing her antlers back with a spray of water. “Let’s be the villains.”

Their gazes turn expectantly to Pearl. She shrinks under the weight of it. This path is one she’s walked before, back in a time of red strings and red eyes, bloodlust and bitterness. It’s not something she’s keen to return to. Not even for the temptation of another win. She can see a watery grave beckoning, and every instinct is telling her to run. Every instinct warns her against the too-hungry eyes of a deer and a bird that look upon her without fear, in affront to nature.

But they want her. And she wants to be wanted.

“Alright,” she breathes, wading into the icy depths.

Let’s be villains.

~

Grian takes first blood that night. Unprovoked, green on green. He claims he wasn’t actually trying to kill Martyn, but the alternative isn’t any better; if their plan was successful, it would’ve been a multi-kill on Jimmy, Joel, Skizz, and Bigb. Trapped like foxes in a hole. Just because.

Pearl watches it happen silently, tail stiff and stomach tight. Even the instant karma of Grian tumbling down the exact same hole to his death isn’t enough to dispel her uneasiness, not even when everyone is all jokes and laughs afterwards. She can’t help but feel that some invisible line has been crossed. Can’t help but feel the sluggish ripples of an icy lake lapping at her paws.

“I do like you as villains,” Cleo hums. But when their dead-eyed gaze drags over Pearl’s form, there’s far too much awareness in it to be entirely friendly, and her nose fills with the scent of rot.

~

As the daylight begins to fade, they venture out to explore the world, see what everyone else is up to, and- incidentally-steal all the torches from around the other bases so more mobs will spawn. Typical villain behavior.

They just so happen to be catching up with Skizz, all of them crowded inside his tiny cobblestone house, when there’s a shout from outside- shortly followed by Jimmy hitting the ground. Apparently the shallow water below wasn’t enough to spare his life.

Grian immediately swoops out the door to loot the dropped items, Pearl and Gem in tow. Pearl’s a little reluctant to follow as they wade into the pond, wary of the mobs surrounding them, but eventually she jumps in and manages to get away with a few diamonds, among other various belongings. They quickly retreat back to their own base, with Jimmy and Joel hot on their heels.

“Pearl,” Joel starts, climbing up the hill, “we’re here to kindly request that you return Jimmy’s stuff, please.” He stops in front of her expectantly. Jimmy’s standing a little way behind him, watching nervously out of the side of his eye, feathers ruffled.

Pearl pauses. She gives him a shrug. “I don’t have ‘em, mate.”

Joel’s antennae twitch. “Give Jimmy his stuff back!” He punctuates his demand with a swipe of his sword.

It’s the flat of the blade that lands against Pearl’s head, but it still hurts. “Ow!” she yelps, ducking her head as she scampers around the house, tail tucked. “What the heck!”

Gem charges over, darting in front of Pearl with flat ears and a stiff tail. “Don’t hurt Pearl!” she snaps. Her sword comes down on Joel in a flash. He returns the hit before they break apart, still glaring.

“No,” Grian flutters over, his voice warning, “steady, steady, steady…”

“Hey, c’mon,” Jimmy says, grabbing Joel’s shoulder. “Come on now, guys-”

“Shush,” Joel shrugs him off. He levels his sword at Gem, eyes narrowed. “Okay- give him his diamonds back. Give him his diamonds back.”

Gem paws the ground with her hoof. “How dare you.”

“Guys,” Jimmy holds his hands up, “I’m here for my diamonds, alright?”

Grian tilts his head. “I- I believe the term is ‘finder’s keepers.’” 

“I believe the term is ‘you’ve stolen,’” Joel deadpans.

Grian exchanges a look with Gem before he hums noncommittally, turning back to their farm. Reluctantly, Gem lowers her sword. She blows a sharp exhale through her nose before following.

Jimmy, evidently seeing they aren’t going to budge, decides to help himself to some of their belongings, rooting through the various chests they have lying around. Then he lets himself into their house, and Pearl is spurred into action. She lunges forward and strikes him with her sword (and she can't help but think about how in another time, it would've been her teeth).

He whirls around with wide eyes. “I’m on three hearts.”

“You better get outta that house, there, Jimmy!” Pearl barks, stepping through the doorway. She leaps onto the chest in the corner and stares down at him. Her tail moves side-to-side; too intense to be friendly.

Jimmy sputters for a moment. His wings flap haphazardly as he backs himself against the wall, talons scratching through the sandy floor. “I’ll- I’ll have my diamonds then, please, thank you!” 

Grian pokes his head inside. “Are the diamonds worth more than your life?” he asks softly, hopping on top of the furnace in the corner opposite Pearl. His talons grip the edge of the stone as he leers over Jimmy.

“Yes,” Jimmy answers without hesitation. “At this moment in time, yes.”

Grian catches Pearl’s eye, a smirk spreading across his face. “I mean, one swing of the sword, and that’s true.”

“It is,” Jimmy allows, dipping his head. “You can swing, and I will die. But-” He puffs out his chest, wings flaring out behind him. “-green on green, my friend! There will be trouble!”

“No,” Grian says, casually preening a wing, “I already- I already killed Martyn by accident, so.”

Jimmy pauses. “Oh,” he says, shrinking back down. “That was you.”

Before anything else can come of it, Joel sets fire to their base from outside. It’s not completely made out of wood, but there’s enough of it in the lower layers to get a blaze roaring, and Pearl’s kicking herself for using it. She joins Grian and Gem in their desperate attempts to put out the flames, but despite their best efforts, it quickly grows out of control. They concede defeat, merely watching the fire spread as Jimmy and Joel take their leave, considering the score settled. Pearl’s nose wrinkles at the scent of smoke. Her ears twitch when the wood splits and pops.

Gem looks over their burning base with pursed lips. “Guys, being the villains is really hard.”

“It is actually really hard,” Grian laughs, running a hand through his hair. “‘Cause I- I neither feel like a villain- I don’t feel like a good villain, you know?”

Pearl rubs her head. “Kinda feels like we’re being picked on, at this point,” she murmurs.

But it seems like Gem and Grian’s response is that they need to be better villains, rather than give up on the whole idea like Pearl wants to. So she keeps her reservations to herself and follows them in deeper.

~

They all sleep on the same bed that night, cloaked beneath the moonlit sky above their roofless hovel.

Grian’s perched on the headboard, curled in on himself and tucked beneath his wings. Pearl’s never understood how he can sleep comfortably like that, but it seems to work for him. 

That leaves the rest of the bed for Pearl and Gem, the latter carefully resting her sharp antlers on the pillow, long legs folded gracefully beneath her. Pearl moves to curl up at the foot of the bed, but Gem chuffs softly. Her eyes shine with stray beams of moonlight as she holds her arms out, silently inviting Pearl to come closer.

Pearl does so gratefully, trembling from the force of trying not to break out into excited full-body wriggling, her tail held carefully still. She crawls forward on her stomach, nuzzling Gem’s face before curling against her, head tucked beneath Gem’s chin. She can hear Gem’s heart beating, can feel the pulse of her jugular pressed against her lips. An errant thought occurs to her: it’d be so easy to sink her teeth into Gem’s throat. To rip through skin and muscle and sinew ‘til her teeth glance off bone made slick with blood.

But Pearl merely turns the thought over in her mind before letting it slip from her fingers, drifting forgotten into the inky depths. She hasn’t seriously entertained bloodlust like that for several seasons, now. Maybe she never will again.

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She’s content just like this, warm and safe and wanted. She’d gladly forsake the taste of blood if she could just live in this moment forever.

Gem sighs, too, but there’s a different tone in it. In the eye of Pearl’s mind, she can almost imagine Gem’s breath fogging in the air, its sting as sharp as any teeth.

(Pearl curls up tighter and pretends she can’t feel the sudden chill breathing down her neck.)

You know that you cannot go on allowing this world to suffer from the intoxicating and devastating power of your relics. You know that your friends, your trusted companions, would have tried to stop you from enacting your own plan because… they already told you they don’t believe in it. So this is the only way to ensure they won’t be able to interfere. But it’s not resentment or- or- or fear or even pride that drives you to do this terrible, necessary thing.

It’s a promise. A promise you all made each other decades ago, to not let yourselves forsake a world- any world- in your quest to defeat The Hunger. And as much as the others might not want to admit it… in creating the Grand Relics with the Light of Creation, that’s exactly what you’ve done.

You agonized over this decision for months. You tried to come up with another option, a way to do what needed to be done without having to turn against the others. Without having to make them turn against you. You drafted arguments and- and speeches to defend your reasoning, amassed evidence of the damage caused by the relics to appeal to their empathy, poured over every scroll of- o- on planar wisdom that you could obtain to prove your theory was sound. But after many sleepless nights of tireless revision, deep down, you knew- you had this horrible certainty that none of it would be enough.

You couldn’t imagine any scenario where the others would support you in this. You couldn’t imagine any scenario where the others would stand idly by, either. You knew you’d have to take them out of the picture- but you didn’t want to hurt them. You couldn’t hurt them. 

And you don’t think they’d hurt you, either, Lucretia, but you have to think pragmatically. You’d be outnumbered and outmatched, almost hopelessly and- and laughably so. You’re a chronicler by trade. You’ve only become a fighter- a- a- a survivor, really, by necessity, and only just recently. What chance could you possibly stand against them?

(I can’t.)

… well that- that was a rhetorical question, but yeah, you- you knew you didn’t stand a chance. It was an unsolvable problem. At least, that’s what you thought until the answer came to you on one auspicious evening, as you hummed a song that the others couldn’t hear, or- or rather, couldn’t remember… because it had been fed to Fisher.

So the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, and you spent the next several weeks planning, preparing, redacting, working out every little detail in advance because once you did this, there would be no turning back. You couldn’t let yourself have any doubts or second thoughts because this would be the only chance you’d get at it. You could inoculate your friends and return their memories at any point, of course, but once you did, you knew they’d never trust you again. So no matter what, you’d have to see this through. A- a- and as you watch the catalyst for this chain of events be set into unstoppable motion… Lucretia, how- how are you feelin’?

(I… I’ll be honest, I know this is going to be hard, but… it’s the only way, and I don’t regret it.)

… hah, okay. 

So then you hear a voice cry out behind you.

“No, no!”

And you turn around, and you see Magnus. He’s standing in the doorway holding a- a wooden duck that kinda looks like you in one shaking hand, the other one still grasping the door handle that he’s turned without warning, his eyes wide with dawning horror. And you realize immediately the gravity of what’s happened, it just- it- it hits you like a punch in the stomach, because you just know that he knows what you’ve done- even if he’s about to forget it, forget everything. In this moment, Magnus, one of your oldest and- and dearest friends, knows that you’ve betrayed them.

… what do you do?

(I- I try to explain.)

“God, Magnus, no. You- you weren’t supposed to see this, I’m so sorry, Magnus.”

Fisher, still consuming your journals, lets out a little happy hum from its tank- the same tune it always hums when it greets Magnus, one of its favorite people. But Magnus doesn’t even acknowledge it. The carved duck that he’s holding just, like, drops out of his hand and clatters to the floor, a small crack splitting through the wood. He clutches his head, grabbing onto the door frame for support as he staggers, his breathing shallow, and he almost looks like he’s going to be sick.

“What are you do- what?”

(I rush over to him.)

“Magnus, p- please, this is just for a little bit. I’m- I’m gonna stop this, what we’ve done to this world. I’m- I’m gonna find you a place where you can be happy again. It’s- it’s just for a little while, and then you’ll remember, I promise.”

Magnus’s eyes are kind of almost glazed over, and he’s blinking like he’s trying to clear his vision? He takes a step back but it’s hesitant a- and- and unsteady, which is so unlike Magnus, the brave and brash fighter that you’ve come to know over these long one hundred years. You can see him fighting this- this static that’s overwhelming his mind, fighting with all his strength, but when he looks up at you again there’s a sudden and crushing blankness in his expression.

“Who are you?” he asks.

(I put a hand on his arm.)

“I can do this, Magnus, please. Please. Just lie down, I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. I love you, Magnus, I love all of you, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

Magnus’s legs finally give out, and you’re there to help lower him to the floor, guiding him to lay down. Do you- I think you like, take off your red I.P.R.E. overcoat and- and fold it up to put under his head as he’s losing consciousness. Fisher is humming again but it’s faster, now, more incessant as it starts to grow distressed by Magnus’s lack of response. Do you uh, say anything to Fisher?

(No, I have to check on the others.)

Okay. You hurry down the hallway and into the main cabin of the Starblaster, th- the uh- the sort of common area that you and your friends have spent countless hours in, sharing meals and- and telling stories and sometimes even arguing over the span of the cycles you all endured together. And the space that’s normally filled with laughter and voices and activity is just… silent, and still.

You see Merle, the laidback man of the cloth, slumped at- uh- o- over the dining table with his cheek pressed against a playing card, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. One of his arms is stretched on the table, almost as if he was reaching out before he fully succumbed. His eyes are closed and he’s completely limp except for the occasional twitch of his fingers.

Davenport, your captain, the master pilot and tactician, is curled up on the floor next to an overturned chair, cards scattered around him. He’s gripping the front of his uniform almost desperately in a white-knuckled grip even though his face is slack and his eyes a- are half-lidded, his mouth barely moving as he softly mutters a single word over and over again…

“... Davenport… Davenport…”

(Are they okay?)

They’re, uh… somewhere in between consciousness and sleep. I mean, their minds are under assault by the voidfish’s power as it consumes an entire century’s worth of memories in mere seconds… but physically, they’re unharmed, yeah.

(I want to… try and make them comfortable.)

Um, sure, you- they’re both kinda little fellas, you know, so- so I think you can just pick them up and set them down on the couch- it’s this big sectional upholstered with red velvet that’s inlaid on one of the back walls of the common area. When you pick up Merle, he doesn’t really react much except to mumble “Five more minutes…” and Davenport lets out a quiet but insistent “Davenport!” which is… concerning, a bit, because he hasn’t said anything else. So you-

(I- c- can I- can they hear me?)

Uh… you can try?

“Merle, Davenport, I- everything’s gonna be okay. You- I’ll make sure you’re safe, just- trust me, please.”

There’s no reaction from Davenport or Merle.

So, once they’re settled on the couch, you- you straighten up and look around. And Lucretia, you realize… you don’t see Barry or Taako.

You saw them just earlier today. You know they were here. There’s dirty dishes piled in the galley sink from Taako’s latest culinary experiment, and there are sheets of notes a- and magical tomes from dead worlds stacked on the coffee table from Barry’s late night research sessions. But your final two companions… aren’t here.

(I search the ship.)

So you quickly turn and run back down the hall that leads to each of your rooms, throwing open the door to Barry’s and finding it empty, and you check Taako’s and it’s also empty. And you even check Lup’s room which is still just as empty as the day she disappeared. And as you check each room in the Starblaster you’re growing more and more panicked because you can’t find Barry and Taako.

You end up back in the common area, your heart pounding and your mind racing. Your gaze falls on the door that leads outside, to the deck of the Starblaster, the only place you haven’t checked yet.

And your stomach just drops through the fucking floor.

(I run outside.)

You sprint through the door out onto the deck and find it empty. You scream their names but there’s no response, just your own lonely, desperate voice echoing out into the sky. Images flash through your mind of- of Barry and Taako, dazed and confused and helpless, tipping over the railing of the Starblaster and falling to their unceremonious deaths. You’re cursing yourself for not double checking, for not being absolutely certain that all of them were safe a- and- and contained before you enacted your plan. And just as your panic threatens to completely overwhelm you, you remember there’s an upper level to the deck, and quickly ascend the steps to take you up there.

Taako is there- he’s on his hands and knees, wind whipping at his hair and his clothes. He’s staring straight ahead at nothing, his expression blank, with tears just- just streaming down his face, though he does- he looks over when you approach. And the fact that he’s even still conscious, much less able to hold himself upright, is just testament to the uh- th- the sort of immense arcane power that the twins have always seemed to just have, innately, which you’ve maybe always been a little envious of.

(I grab him by the shoulders.)

“Taako, where’s Barry?!”

And Taako almost recoils a little, his ears flattening. “Where’s- where’s what?” he stammers, his eyes darting around. “Who are you? Wh- where am I?”

But you also- you notice that his wand is gripped in one of his hands? And you catch the briefest glimpse of a faint plume of smoke that’s curling out of its tip before it’s whisked away by the wind.

(Oh, no.)

A sense of dread settles over you. You don’t know- you have no way of knowing what might’ve just occurred. Taako is staring at you just- just completely empty, and there’s no sign of Barry. And so you’re left wondering- did they realize what was happening? Did they know what your plan was? If you’re to assume the worst and Barry’s dead- well, he’s a lich, he can come back. 

But you’re still worried. You’re worried for his safety and that he might have burned through his corporeal form in this world that you intended to be yours and theirs forever. And at the same time, you’re also worried about how this will affect your plan, because the rules tend to be different for liches. If Barry is out there in lich form and he knows, there’s no telling what he might do.

Liches are tethered by strong emotions. Lup has explained this all before. It helps ground them, keeps them from losing grasp of who they are- the personalities and values and sense of self they held in life. You’ve never been afraid of Barry, the nervous and dedicated scientist. But if there was ever any circumstance in all of existence where a strong emotion could actually have the opposite effect on a lich, and instead consume and corrupt them into a shadow of their former selves… the hatred Barry must feel for you could probably do it.

(I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t- what- what can I do?)

You can try to find him later. There’s nothing you can do about that now.

You look down at- at Taako, who’s looking back up at you just… uncomprehending, with still-wet tear stains on his face, and you can’t help but feel a surge of frustration- that this brilliant yet maddening wizard might’ve ruined the plan you’ve risked everything for, before it even got off the ground, and he doesn’t even remember-

(It’s not his fault.)

… but a heartbeat later you realize your frustration is actually directed at yourself. You brought this on yourself.

So you- you try to help Taako up, and he makes a little noise of protest and tries to like, push away from you, but you can see that the voidfish’s influence is starting to fully hit him, ‘cause the alertness in his eyes is fading. You put his arm around your shoulder, and it’s- it’s awkward because he’s taller than you and like… starting to become dead weight. But you manage to half-lead, half-carry him down the steps and back inside the Starblaster, at which point he finally just sinks to the ground, his back against the wall, his wand slipping from his grasp and rolling across the floor.

(I pick it up and crouch beside him, tucking it into his pocket.)

“I’m- I’m sorry, Taako. I’ll make it up to you, to all of you, I promise.”

He struggles to lift his head up to look at you, opening his mouth to say- uh, I- I dunno,  something, but then his breath catches and his eyes flutter closed as he drifts away into the static.

Lucretia, you stand up in the cabin of the Starblaster, surrounded by what’s left of your friends, your family, and yet you’re alone. The sun’s about the set through the port side windows, throwing orange beams of light lazily along the floor, and a memory flashes through your mind- those same windows filled with an endless darkness, broken only by wild streaks of yellow and blue and green and red light. 

… do you still not have any regrets?

(Yes. N- no, I don’t- I don’t know.)

You’re not sure how long you have, you- you’ve- heh, you’ve never done this before, but you’re fairly certain that the next time they all wake up, they won’t remember they’ve forgotten anything. They’ll pick up what pieces you’ve left them and move on. So you have to make sure they’re all settled in the lives you’ve planned for them before then. And then you can get to work.

Your first stop will be Merle’s. You’ve found a community of beach dwarves that he can seamlessly fit into, only a couple hours’ flight away. The map is back in your room.

(I go back.)

You return to your room. Magus is still laid out where you left him. He’s soundly asleep now, thoroughly spent from the agonizing process of having his memories taken from him. It- it would almost be peaceful if you didn’t know what you know.

Fisher is out of its tank, it- be- because you know the voidfish can survive out of water, you aren’t too alarmed. But its- Fisher is floating in the air above Magnus, humming a slow, mournful tune… 

… and grasped tenderly in its tendrils is the wooden duck that he carved for you.

…

…

…

…

…

What do you do?

…

…

…

(I… I walk past them to retrieve the map.)

…