#kangaroo writes

And it's going great we're gonna burn these words of affirmation fuck Scar's cake

When Jevin's shovel hits something soft and there is blood and a noise and Cleo as local undead expert all but throws Jevin out of the way to haul up-

Skizz.

Skizz, in his suit, confused and loopy and unable to stand and they all taunt him for a moment or two but they stop real quick when it becomes clear that Skizz doesn't know what they're talking about.

Or where he is.

And when Ren asks him how the pyramid is coming along, Skizz tells them he's barely started the second layer, he's so behind, why- why are you looking at me like that? What's going on? And who buried me?! Clebert help a guy up I'm starving and someone stabbed me!

It takes them another four minutes to dig up Scar. Scar is even loopier. The last thing he remembers is his zoo parking lot.

"I don't talk to you alone!"

"You're not alone and that's the issue?" Skizz offers.

There's a moment of quiet and then the door creaks open. Two stalks of slime with the darker striations that indicate Jevin's eyes creep through the tiny crack to glare at Skizz. "What?"

"We gotta talk about Sal, dude," Skizz says.

"You will stay away from Sal-"

"Jev if you let this go on much longer you're gonna have a rogue god on the server and trust me, man, if you're not prepared for that it's gonna break bad!"

The eyestalks lengthen, then shorten, then disappear. Jevin opens the door fully, thankfully all in one piece, and squints. "What?"

Skizz inhales and exhales slow. "Sal's not rotting, right? Real Sal, not his doubles."

"...no."

"And when you left the gold block in the hideaway you said you came back and it was diamond."

"Cleo did that."

Skizz snorts. "No they didn't and you know it. Sal did. Sal did, because you believe he can, because given enough belief anything can become a god."

Jevin blinks. He blinks again. "You...believe in Sal."

"Believe in- I've been around the BLOCK before, Jevin, I know what a god birthing looks like. You're becoming the Prophet of Sal, Jev," Skizz says, "and if you don't come up with some rules and regulations he's gonna tread all over you."

"This isn't like what happened to you."

"this is EXACTLY like what happened to me," the fallen angel pleas. "Jev, look, all I'm asking you to do is like. Do some commandment brainstorming. Ask Clebert she seems like she'd have ideas. Get a handle on the Scripture of Sal before he writes it for you. Turning gold into diamond? That's avarice. That's sin number one. If he keeps going without you guiding him he'll tumble right down into the dark places."

"Guide?"

"Yeah. You made him, dude. You created a god. Now you gotta teach him how to be a person."

"And what if I don't?" Jevin asks curiously. "What if I let him do what he wants?"

For a moment Skizz is somewhere else. He looks pale and haunted and Jevin feels dread creep in.

"Whatever you do, Jevin," Skizz says quietly, "you let me know if that's what you choose. Because I don't wanna be here for it. Not again."

One broken, gnarled gray wing twitches on his back.

"Once was enough."

-

"It..didn't look like that when I ordered it." Gemini Tay says faintly, half-bent over a fuel tank and staring up at the newest apparently tragically sentient occupant of the GiggsMart stock room.

"No," Impulse says as cheerfully as ever, wielding the lid of the break room trashcan like a shield and swinging his mop back and forth to keep the area in front of them clear, "I bet it didn't! LITTLE FASTER SKIZZ!"

"I'M WORKING ON IT!" Their pump attendant barks from the far side of what had, until their manager unwrapped it, been-presumably- a potted monstera deliciosa.

The teeth are new.

So are the tendrils currently creeping across the stockroom floor.

"What's UP!" Skizz cries as he brings the sharpened tines of his cleanup rake down on said creeping tendrils, then up in a sweeping motion that knocks over the comically small pot currently holding the murderous houseplant. The monstera shrieks, which it definitely shouldn't be able to do, and its leaves and almost-face turn towards him.

Which had, in fact, been the plan.

"Okay," Gem says grimly, flicking the switch on the flamethrower she's just finished refueling from 'steady' to what had once been 'maximum' until Skizz got bored and had a sharpie- the setting now reads 'comin' in HOT!!!' "I was fed up with this doppleganger stuff already but now it's personal."

-

"-and you got your nickname by?"

"Shooting a hole through a penny," Penny Pickles recites faithfully. The bored brown-haired young man holding his ID sighs in a manner that could be considered dramatic, if ennui didn't win out. "It all checks out," he says, handing the ID back. "Hello, Clown."

"Hello, Grian," the spindly seven foot monstrosity behind Penny says, head bobbing. He fiddles with his long claws as Grian sweeps Penny's energy drinks and jerky into a bag. "Quiet night?"

"Sort of."

There is a bang from behind them in the stock room, a shriek, and a "I SPENT THREE DAYS ARRANGING THE GUM DISPLAY TO FIT THAT PLANT-!" which is immediately followed up by the roar of a flamethrower and Skizz's victorious howl of "YEAH BAYBEEE go GEM!"

"...sort of?" Penny asks.

"Gem got a new plant." Grian says flatly.

"Gem likes plants," Clown offers timidly, which is a strange mannerism for a nightmare creature currently glitching out the GiggsMart security cameras.

"Not the kind that come with teeth."

"They have teeth now?" Penny groans. "Oh man the briefing tonight's gonna suuuucccccckkk." He tucks his ID away and turns. "Come on, Clown. Good luck gardening, Grian!"

"I'm not gardening." Grian says, and pulls out a book as the monster and monster hunter venture out into the night.

The smell of burning greens comes faintly through the door as a car pulls up to the pump outside and honks.

"Skizz!" Grian calls without looking up. "If you aren't dead you're up!"

The door opens and his coworkers stumble out, coughing. Grian glances at Gem. "No monstera?"

"I'll buy one tomorrow."

"Aw, shame, that. I was hoping to put sunglasses on it."

Skizz, looking a little crispier than he had when he clocked in, bursts into hysterical giggles and beelines for the front of the store. From the stock room Grian hears Impulse groan. "How am I gonna clean this up?! Why do monster plants have so many guts?"

"There's guts?" Grian asks.

"Don't." Gem says. "Do not."

"Alright, alright. ....do you think dopplegangers could try copying a cactus-"

"GRIAN!"

Skizz can still hear Grian cackling with laughter as he cheerfully beats the doppleganger in the front seat of the jeep that's just pulled up to death with his cleanup rake.

It isn't that (former) Sergeant Pendleton- Penny- Pickles is unhappy to be a part of NET.

No, honestly, the job offer that came after the, uh, dissolution of his military career was welcome. Better to be gangpressed into service with a morally questionable monster eradication organization than given a court marshal that would absolutely see his pickle dilled, even IF his CO had been overtaken by a malevolent spirit and was murdering everyone in sight.

So the job's a bit hush hush. And paranoia-inducing. And overall really bad, like, for his health? Mental and physical if he's being totally honest. He's shot more people who weren't actually people than he ever did in the service and everything always happens at night.

Night, of course, is when he found the gas station.

-thusfar the only person (aside from Clownpierce obviously) who has Something solidly Not Human about them is, of course, Skizzle the man my beloved.

He doesn't know the specifics because he is but a character, but he's a kind of nephilim. Your father was a fallen angel (with angels here being extra-dimensional beings from the aether) and your mother thought it was just a real good one night stand kinda situation going on there.

Just because he doesn't have the specifics, however, doesn't mean Skizz is unaware that he's Just Left Of Normal. To say he was relieved when the doppleganger mess started and he continued to register as human is putting it mildly.

-Clown CAN look human. He can! He simply chooses not to, which is fine by Penny but also causes, you know. Some problems.

-Pendleton Pickles is a frighteningly capable sniper with five years' combat experience in active war zones prior to the situation with his former CO that led to his career change. That's where 'penny' came from- he put a hole through the center of a penny his training officer flicked into the air at 1500 meters. -Penny became the object of Clown's dubious affections when he was the only human on the NET team sent to capture him who managed to even wound him. Pendleton Pickles was distressed to find that he is, in fact, a monster fucker.

-There is nothing supernatural about Grian. Not a single thing. He is just a very intense and detail-oriented young man who wants to do the least amount of work for his paycheck so he can go home and indulge in his many hobbies.

The walk back to the Lapis Lounge doesn’t lead them anywhere more crowded than the main lobby- it’s a quiet night at the Angel Heart. The meeting had been intentionally scheduled for a slow day and all of the heroes had been brought in through the back VIP entrance. Impulse instinctively scans the area anyway and he sees one other employee- the young man with the green, yellow and blue hair who looks at them and then turns right back around.

“Good,” he hears Skizz murmur. “Get on it, Parrot.”

“Is his name really Parrot?” Impulse can’t help but ask, and Skizz laughs.

The sound is haunting in its warm familiarity, but the eerie quality of hearing it again is already draining away as he replies, “No, but that’s what he likes to be called. I make it a policy to call people what they want to be called.”

“Oh, is that how it works, Gordon?” Impulse asks, hesitant. When Skizz grins back and him and says, “I LIKE Gordon!” He snorts. “He has so many detergents.”

Impulse is struck like a truck with the memory of ninth grade math, word problems. If Daniel has five jugs of detergent and Gordon has seven…

“Our math book.” He says. “You took your pseudonym from our math book?!”

“Well most of it.” Skizz says, pushing the door open. “I wanted to keep Nathaniel. Hey, DOC. Change of plans!”

The Goat looks up and both of his eyes go wide, the cybernetic implant rotoscoping out for a moment as Symmetria slowly sits up. Against the far wall where she’d been returning from the buffet Moon Moth stops dead, fork halfway to her mouth. Helsknight is already on his feet, Third Eye reaching to drag him back down.

“Uh. Mr-” The Red King starts but the explosion of metal fragments up into the air like glittering confetti draws all eyes.

“SKIZZ?!”

Teknician is around the table before Undertow- who is closest- can grab him, and just before the Mountain can grab the smaller man he is suddenly on the far side of the room, a chair in his place. Teknician doesn’t notice, throwing himself at Skizz as the myriad of metal fragments floating dangerously above all their heads come streaming back to him, whirling around the little trio of himself, Singularity and the newly arrived Mr. House.

“Hey, ‘Top,” Skizz says hoarsely. “Long time no see, buddy.”

“You’re dead.” Tango looks up at him, red eyes filled with tears. “Skizz holy fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck how? What? Why?”

“Skizz?” Cute Guy mutters to Stratos. “That’s Patches he runs the high stakes poker table.”

“No,” Stratos says slowly, “That’s Mr. House. He owns the casino.”

“That,” The Goat says evenly, “Is Skizzriel Lehman, and he is all three. Mr. House. An explanation?”

“Yeah, uh,” Skizz sniffs, does nothing to pry off Tango or move away from Impulse. “Sorry, everybody- Beef, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Beef rumbles, returning to the table with his gaze dark, “but this had better be good.”

“It is. Tango. Buddy I gotta sit down.”

“Fuck you no you don’t.” Tango says, muffled in his chest.

“He really does,” Impulse says and Tango grumbles but lets go, reluctantly returning to his chair. Skizz takes one of the few empty spots and nods to the others before looking at Doc.

“It fucks up.” He announces.

“When?” The Goat asks immediately.

“Right..right at the end,” Singularity says. Tango makes a whimpering noise. “Imp,” he pleas, “how many?”

“This is loop ten.” Impulse says.

“Loop TEN- man never mind we’ve done this before.”

“Not like this but. Yeah. Sort of.”

“According to Dippledop it goes off without a hitch until the very last second. Instead of gunning for me she tries to kill him.”

‘Dippledop?’ Third Eye mouths at Helsknight as Mindcrack and the Mountain share a glance.

“And this has happened in every loop?” The Goat asks.

Impulse nods. “Except for loops where I intentionally altered the plan, yes. And thus far none of my alterations have worked either.”

“So we’re trying something new!” Skizz says brightly. “Tango you got your phone?”

“…yes?”

“Cool may I have it?”

Tango silently takes out his phone and slides it across the green granite tabletop to Skizz. The heroes and villains, equally baffled, all look at one another as he dials, sets the phone to speaker, and puts it down.

It rings once, twice, so incredibly loud.

Then the tinny voice on the other end picks up. -Tango? It’s late.-

“Hey, Zeddlebop,” Skizz says brightly. “How do you feel about blowing up a stadium?”

-..I am intrigued and possibly a little horny.-

“Great get your ass in the car and pop over to the casino I’m having a little party.”

-oh I love parties. Top and tails?-

“For you we’ll accept business casual or a ratty ass hoodie. Come in the back, I’ll tell the boys.” -Ohoho, the back door! Perhaps then you’ll explain why you’re using Tango’s phone?-

“He’s gonna explain a fuck of a lot more than that!” Tango bursts and both Zed and Skizz laugh.

-Give me half an hour, Skizzleman.-

“Happy to give it, Zeddlebop. See you then.”

Skizz hangs up, slides the phone back to Tango.

“Lichtenburg?” Xibraltar asks. Beside him Keralis sips another of his seemingly endless umbrella drinks, amused.

Impulse stares at Skizz.

“Why,” he says, “did I not think of calling Zed? We ALWAYS need Zed! That’s why it’s zits!”

“Zits?” Hot Guy asks.

“Hotshot,” Skizz tells him, “we are all gonna learn some deep lore tonight. But first I need a smoke.”

“You don’t smoke.” Moon Moth points out as she finishes tearing a chicken wing apart with frightening speed.

“True. Fuck.”

“Wait.” Tango says. “Wait wait wait. You’re Mr. House.”

“See I knew there was a brain in that pretty head!”

“But if you’re Mr. House that means you dumped my boyfriend outside my brownstone after firing him.”

“No I dumped your boyfriend outside your brownstone because if I didn’t he was gonna leave me for you anyway, you homewrecker.”

“WHAT?”

His...perfect vision.

With which he can see that the pool of water is in fact a pool of fresh blood.

"Oh. There you are."

He blinks, resists the urge to lick his lips, cranes his head around.

Someone is standing on top of the pool of blood, walking like Christ on water. It's a man. He's tall, with rugged features, salt and pepper hair that's long enough to be called rakish. He's wearing a suit, of all things, but the sleeves have been ripped off, showing arms marked with- lines? Sigils? Are they moving?

Then there are the wings. The huge, white wings, which should ostensibly bring comfort- save that each feather is outlined and vaguely dripping with blood.

The wings, Legundo thinks with a certainty that is not backed up by any evidence, empirical or otherwise, the wings are what is making the pool.

"Where am I?" He asks, and his voice sounds strange to him, polite and strained, no trace of the beast he'd almost become anywhere in it.

The winged man looks around. "Good question! Haven't thought up a good name yet. Maybe you could help me out with that."

"Help with- who are you?"

The man smiles. It's a warm smile, and it seems grotesque to Legundo in this expansive dark, with his ass in a literal puddle of actual blood.

"I'm the God of Sacrifice. And you, Doc, have just become my first official Saint."

A pause, then one calloused hand offered to help him up.

"Once the whitelist goes through and you log, you'll be powerlocked."

"Oh say less, sir."

"I'm being serious, Skizriel."

"So am I. Lay it on me, boss. What are we talking?"

"You'll be reduced to your most base form. You might be able to access Wrath Warlord, but Ascendant Envoy and Spear of Wrath won't be accessible at all."

"Sounds good to me."

"...you're not the only one."

"Eh?"

"I just- I want you to know that we are ALL powerlocked, myself included excluding necessary admin permissions. Even Keralis and Joe, to what extent they can be sealed. You aren't being singled out."

"Never thought I was, X. But- thanks. Let's get this show on the road, yeah?"

---

No one understands the cruelty of the Celestial Ascendancy like Skizz.

Sure he's not an engineer or a philosopher. Before coming home with Impulse he'd have called himself what he was: a war dog. A weapon. A soldier who obeyed.

Who understands the war better than the bloody spear at its tip?

All of that was centuries ago, though. The demonic revolution of the joined hell servers had been enough to push the Ascendancy out to the edges of the multiverse where they could keep trying and failing to birth an elder god that would bring them to the Heart.

Skizz mostly forgets, in his day to day. Tripping over his own two feet helping Tango, shamelessly encouraging Scar, meekly being scolded by Gem and Cleo. It's easy to forget. To feel old and safe and settled.

He hadn't meant to lie, per say. It had just been easier.

No other hermit gave up information about their pasts, it wasn't a requirement to join the server. All he'd said was he was 'war buddies' with Impulse and that did it. The others all knew Impulse had fought in the revolution.

Hell he still technically ruled a portion of his home server, though they'd moved to a more democratic elective system millennia ago and his role was ceremonial at best.

Skizz knew Grian thought he was a demon of one of the rarer Houses or Empires and honestly, in a fucked up way, he's honored the little Watcher might believe him worthy. To be a Prince, even a minor one, of Rust or Storms or Blood! Man the House of Blood was so cool, even now.

But no.

No, no.

Skizriel, Ascendant Envoy of the Celestial Choir and Spear of Wrath, touches down on the grass with Gem at his side. Impulse beside him is still holding Joe, and when the powerlocking clicks back into place Skizz feels like he weighs as much as an entire mountain of netherite blocks. Like he's been cut from a safety cord and left to drift.

Good, he thinks ruthlessly to himself. Good.

Keralis is waiting, face dark. Xisuma and Hypno too are waiting and they all come forward. Joe hasn't woken.

Skizz wordlessly hands Xisuma a datastick. He'd taken it from the room they'd found Gem and Joe in. Xisuma takes it with a nod and with a glance back at Impulse, who is seeing to Joe and Gem, Skizz equips an elytra and takes off.

--

He'd been able to hide from pretty much everyone.

Keralis knew, and Joe, and that was fine. Hell he'd sought them out that first day, had asked Impulse and Xisuma to let them know beforehand in case it was a dealbreaker. It's one thing to be two members of an endangered species on a refuge server.

It's another to welcome a refugee from the hunters who made you endangered in the first place.

Everyone else hadn't much cared. Grian was a problem, but a powerlocked Watcher can only Watch so much, and he's still such a little guy, in Watcher years. It'll be another century before he can hope to peer past Skizz.

Skizz touches down gently on the far side of a white wall surrounding a beautful pagoda styled castle and he's waiting there.

"How did it go?" Welsknight asks.

"We got them both." Skizz says. "It's okay. We're okay."

Then Welsknight puts a hand on his shoulder, and says kindly, "Skizz? you're not okay."

"No." Skizz whispers. "I'm not."

--

He'd wanted so badly to leave it all behind.

He'd been near mortally wounded in the final battle, badly enough that the Ascendancy thought he was dead and most of the Demonic Houses did, too. Even his most base form still has scars from where he'd held up the world, because if he could buy the revolutionaries another hour, another minute, another second-

He'd done it. He'd held back the sky, and they'd won the day, and the sad tale of Skizriel the Spear of Wrath who turned upon his own was just one more part of a war that would become ruins that would become stories.

Impulse had settled well into a life of peace, had wanted to share that with his companion. He'd assured Skizz that there were other old soldiers and there were, yes- BDubs who still rides military-straight, Scar whose luck whispers of old bargains that won't ever come due. Doc, missing arm and eye, never quite relaxing.

Then there's Welsknight.

Ancient, terrible Welsknight.

Not a god, not a demon, not an angel. Nothing more than a man.

A man who fights and fights and does not die. A man who knows what it is to want peace and yearn for war because at least in war things make sense.

A man who had taken one look at Skizz and said to him, simply and directly, "I see you."

Not in a threatening way. Not in a 'gotcha!' way either. It had been an invitation, one bloodied sword to another. I see you.

And oh.

How good it had felt to be seen.

--

Skizz sits beside the beautiful, tranquil pond of the castle's courtyard and tells Wels everything.

About Xisuma cutting their powerlocks the moment it became clear that what happened to Joe and Gem wasn't a respawn error.

About the teleport Skizz had rigged to get them to the junk server the Ascendancy had built out amongst the survival worlds, made and abandoned in hours or days.

About Impulse following the scent of Gem's blood, growling in the back of his throat.

About how easy it had been to tear Raziel into pieces, how satisfying, even if the two headed little prick is just going to respawn back at the prison server which is apparently not a prison anymore.

Wels, bless him, looks at Skizz when he's finished and says, with old blood in his gaze, "Sounds like fun."

Then they laugh together, ugly laughter they wouldn't let the others hear.

"So." Wels says when they've finished laughing. "What do we do now?"

Skizz is quiet for a long moment. The sun has fallen, and no one appears to be sleeping; the fireflies buzz through the cattails.

"They're going to come back. For Keralis or Joe. Maybe both. We're a designated non-combat server. They won't take their chances anywhere else until they're sure this nut can't be cracked."

"Mm." Wels looks out over his courtyard. "Okay. Well. We'll be ready."

"Yeah." Skizz agrees, and he can almost see through all three pairs of eyes, almost feel the flexing of all nine wings. "We will be."

--

A/N: -deep sigh-

-flips sign-