#hyblr

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At first glance, the district dedicated to the Pit seemed almost quaint. It was much smaller and less crowded than the Skyblock district, or even the Skywars district, but almost as lively. There were rolling hills and green grass and trees swaying in the wind and strings of lights stretching between buildings to illuminate the streets below at night. The markets were busy but not jam-packed, and the Trade Center was impressive enough to interest the occasional tourist.

Today of all days, the district seemed especially charming. The sky was blue and cloudless, and a faint breeze stirred the leaves of trees lining the streets. The dull roar of the marketplace, of people talking, haggling, and announcing their wares, was a pleasant one.

Of course, first glances could be deceiving. The Pit’s reputation was far darker than it’s physical appearance, and for good reason. If Hypixel was a city, the Pit district was the shady neighborhood near the edge of town, the one parents told their children to avoid, the one where people who went outside alone at night went missing. But, it did have one thing that no other district did.

Mystics.

The only items in the kingdom that could hold a candle to Skyblock’s, and they were usually cheaper and easier to hide, too. Sure, taking items exclusive to a certain district outside of that district was highly illegal, but that’d never stopped anyone. Everyone wanted a good sword on their person, to defend themselves from armed robbers or to use on a hacker if they encountered one. To continue the city metaphor, mystics were the restaurant that sold burgers so good it was worth risking the shady neighborhood for.

Of course, in addition to the mystic trade, the Pit also sported a booming black market. Hackers were so common they’d become a part of the economy, selling illicit devices and their services to those who could afford it. There were rumors that it was such a hub for illegal activity that hackers from other districts would visit it to take part in the economy’s dark underbelly. Though so far, no one had backed up those rumors with evidence.

But, you weren’t here for a history lesson. You were here to do business.

Your journey took you past the Trade Center, a large, impressive building that sat proudly in the middle of town. Its walls were mostly clean white quartz and glass, and inside it had high ceilings and tall windows that made it feel like there was plenty of room even when it was full of people. Huge floating holograms listed known scammers, advertisements, and graphs displaying current prices and what they were yesterday. It was probably the best place for trading if you wanted a safe deal with a low chance of something going wrong.

Today, it wasn’t the place for you. 

You snatched a newspaper from a stand outside on your way by and read it as you walked. It was today’s copy of The Hypixel Pit News, the first paper dedicated to the Pit, and one of the most respected. They released articles online too, but trying to read text on a translucent hologram while walking had always given you a headache, so you preferred the physical copies.

An illegal inter-district trading ring had been exposed, there was more drama between high-prestige players, a new hopper group was making threats, and the anti-Conclave protests were still going. Same old, same old.

The sound of shouting tore your attention away from the paper. Not your average shouting typical of the marketplace either, but something more synchronized. More organized.

Hey, speaking of anti-Conclave protests, you’d just happened upon one.

They were camped out on the sidewalk near the Trade Center, chanting in unison, waving handmade signs, the works. They argued that the organization was corrupt and holding them back rather than uplifting them as it was supposed to. It’d been going on for a few days now. Conclave had made a few official statements addressing it, but the protestors didn’t seem satisfied.

Frankly, you didn’t care either way. It didn’t really affect you. At least it made your walk entertaining.

You skirted around the protest, giving them a wide berth. Immediately, you noticed what appeared to be three locals cornering a pair of tourists. That usually meant bad news. You angled yourself to get within earshot while still appearing casual.

“I-I-I don’t know anything about that,” one tourist stammered. “We’re just visiting.”

“Visiting or not, you still have to pay your taxes. Let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be,” one of the locals replied.

“C’mon. Pay up,” another beckoned.

“Everyone has to do this,” the first reassured. “It’s completely normal.”

“Hey!” you called, abandoning any pretense of uninvolvement. “Quit scamming the tourists.”

The three locals turned around, all wearing near-identical sneers. From the colors of the eight-pointed stars pinned to the front of their jackets, you could make out their prestige and level. Yellow brackets, every single one of them.

“We’re not scamming!” one objected innocently. “We’re helping. If they pay us now, they won’t get hunted later.”

“Uh-huh,” you monotoned, unimpressed. “Get outta here.”

“We’re not doing anything wrong!” the other cried.

You shifted your weight slightly so the golden sword dangling from your hip was more prominent, and casually placed one hand on the pommel. It was quite a blade, with a serrated edge indicating Combo: Damage, and a dark red line running down the middle, indicating Lifesteal. Not a record-breaking sword, but certainly a good one. Plus, its presence meant you had the wealth or power to obtain it, which was almost more intimidating than the blade itself.

The yellow brackets backed off.

“Sorry about that,” you told the tourists. “You know how nons are. What did they tell you?”

“Um, something about taxes?” one offered.

“They said we had to pay them or we’d be hunted forever,” the other explained.

You sized them up with a critical eye. Neither wore any mystics, but both had the glowing cyan earring of MVP rank. They weren’t even wearing the eight-pointed star pin of the Pit, which meant they hadn’t actually stepped foot in the combat zones yet. They oozed “I’m a rich idiot, please exploit me” from every pore.

“Wipe that wide-eyed look off your face,” you ordered. “You look like tourists.”

“We are tourists.”

“Well, hide it better. You’re lucky most higher prestiges don’t think you’re even worth scamming, or strangers might have a harder time rescuing you. Keep a hand on your sword and squint at everyone like you expect them to jump you at any moment,” you instructed. “Don’t expect me to save you again.”

With that, you turned and continued walking. You had places to be.

As you advanced into the seedier parts of town, things started to look a little less charming. The buildings were shabbier, the pavement was cracked, and the streets were narrower. Glowing signs and hologram advertisements alike flickered like they could lose power at any moment. There were less people walking these streets, and the ones that did wore good mystics and wary expressions. Rather than shops and cafés, most of the buildings here were taverns.

You were near the district’s dark underbelly.

Then, you found your destination. A tavern dubbed The Mariana, short for the Mariana Trench, and vaguely themed around the map Corals. There was a café downtown called The Aquarium that had done the same thing, but it had gone for a cheerful, colorful aesthetic, with light blue walls, large windows, and huge murals depicting schools of fish. This one had done rather the opposite and mimicked something closer to the deep sea.

You entered cautiously. It was quite dim compared to the sunlight outside, and it took your eyes a moment to adjust. The walls were brick and the floorboards dark oak. Black curtains were drawn over the few windows, and the only light came from greenish bulbs dangling from the ceiling on long strings, likely meant to resemble an anglerfish’s lure.

You analyzed the establishment’s customers quickly before taking another step. A few high-prestige players sat at the bar, the Executioner scythes strapped to their backs glinting when they caught the light. Most of the tavern’s occupants sat at circular tables, sipping drinks and talking in low tones. Not a single person here was without a weapon.

In the far left corner, you spotted what you’d been looking for. Two people sitting next to each other at a table, both wearing darks, and, oddly enough, long sleeves despite the warm weather.

You approached their table cautiously. As you got closer, you could make out fangs sewn into the black leather of their pants. Not only darks, but venoms. Perfect.

They looked up when you neared them. They both had pretty good poker faces, but you could just barely make out distrust in their eyes and the faintest hint of smugness in the curve of their mouths. You noted that neither had the glowing earring indicating a rank. What a curious coincidence.

You planted both hands on the table and leaned closer.

“Weird question, do either of you happen to know someone with . . . a really comfortable gaming chair?” you asked.

To anyone else, the question would seem like gibberish. Perhaps a joke of some kind. But if your assumptions were correct, it’d mean something else entirely to these people.

A slow smile spread over one’s face. He reached down and tugged his sleeve back slightly to reveal a glimpse of shiny metal and tiny glowing lights. You’d been in the Pit long enough to recognize a killaura bracer on sight.

“Maybe. Why do you ask?” he replied.

You pulled back a chair and sat down. You had their attention. No turning back now. You took a deep breath.

“I need someone hunted.”

couple o’ closeups

also here’s the image I used as reference! (very basic I know)