#tay writeth

"Cleo?" He called. They were still not there.

Xisuma took a step closer to the bed and pulled the blankets back onto the mattress, straightening them out. As he smoothed over the quilt, an object bounced off his boot, rolling under the bed. He got on his knees and reached underneath the bed frame, searching around blindly, before he gripped the thing and fished it out. When he opened his glove, within it lay a greenish-blue lump curled in upon itself. He squinted in the dim light, focusing, before he realised it was a mangled hand.

"Oh jeez," he gasped. His heart stuttered, skipping beats and bile coated his tongue. "Oh, goodness." Cleo's hand. Cleo was not there, but her hand was. It seemed to have ripped at the stitches' seam, the joint separated with almost surgical precision. Xisuma muttered not now, X, under his breath. Was he really analysing how Cleo's hand like a freak when they were missing? He placed the hand gingerly on the floor next to him. Maybe it could be reattached.

Cleo had obviously been taken by Grian. But what Xisuma couldn't understand was why Grian had done it. Why he would keep doing it. None of it made sense. But getting his Hermits back would change that. And— and if Grian had to be removed, so be it.

His communicator buzzed. X didn't want to see how Doc screwed up this time, or deal with the consequences. Luckily, Doc seemed to be keeping his toes in line for once. Instead, it was a notification of Ren and Grian world hopping, sent from the server. Which… they shouldn't be able to do.

"Curious," he muttered. They—or rather Grian, he guessed— had managed to get past his lockdown, and now they could be anywhere, which made his plan useless. Then again, X didn't know how he would've contained Grian by himself when he had already taken twelve of his hermits single-handedly.

It didn't matter though; he had something else to do. Xisuma had promised Cleo, after all to find them: Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie.

Xisuma didn't know where he got Martyn's address. Perhaps when he and Jimmy toured Hermitcraft. But however it happened, it was in the system, and close enough that he wouldn't have to use the long range teleporter.

Martyn's house looked a lot like Grian's did. Xisuma frowned. He didn't want to think about Grian right now. It couldn't be proven that Grian was behind all of this, but considering there was a confirmed sighting of him kidnapping someone and suggested evidence of him doing the same to many others… it wasn't looking good for him. X didn't know what to think of him at the moment, so he didn't, but Grian's dusty, worn house stayed in his thoughts anyway.

He knocked politely at the door and waited outside for a moment before sighing and trying the door. It swung open creakily, the pieces of the lock shattered on the floor. "Martyn?" He called. Dust seemed to coat him, and he was gladder than ever for the in-built respirator into his helmet. "It's Xisuma, I just want to talk to you," he continued, trying to project soothing into his voice. It didn't really work; he sounded anxious and quite worried.

He continued picking through the house. The bread in the cupboard was stale and there was some kind of lichen growing on the inside of his kitchen. Finally, he arrived at what seemed to be the bedroom. It had a bookshelf in one corner and a futon on the ground, with bags littered in the corner. Turning to close the door, he realised that the door had no handle anymore. The knob and the area of wood holding it having been ripped with the force of someone who expected resistance. It seemed that Martyn hadn't been home for a while. Xisuma sighed, closing Martyn's door behind him, before he teleported away.

BigB's house was modern, a box of cut quartz and tinted windows. It was just as empty as Martyn's, yet much better kept; the floors were dust free, the curtains were open, the food was packed neatly away in the cabinets, the bed was made. But BigB wasn't there. Dread pooled in Xisuma's stomach.

Jimmy's house was a cosy cottage on the river, cute, tidy, if a little outdated in style. He stepped through the door, pulling it open, and noticed a cat sleeping on the bed. There was a table flipped sideways with torches, food and a sword scattered on the spruce floor. The cat stared at him with unblinking yellow eyes. Xisuma got the sense it knew something it shouldn't. A name tag with Big Man Norman carved into it hung from its collar. X offered it a piece of cooked meat before he flipped the table back over, sending a slight breeze into the next room. It disturbed pieces of paper that were scattered on the floor, fluttering with the dust that followed.

Xisuma knelt down and gathered them into a stack to read. Most were useless: junk mail, drawings of a cat (presumably Norman), invitations to new worlds. Finally, he comes across a letter, signed Smajor1995. X almost ignored it, until he noticed the words Grian, Pearl, helmet and gone.

Unfortunately, Scott's letter didn't reveal much to him. The ink was smudged and scribbled, like he was in a hurry. Scott had emphasised Jimmy leaving— he had no chance to fight; if Grian could take so many powerful revenants just like that, Jimmy couldn't hope to fight. It was a little demeaning, even if well intended. He knew Jimmy had been training with Grian before he was reaped to put his avian nature to good use. But the word helmet was curious.

Pearl visited me yesterday. She seemed to be in a hurry, but couldn't tell me why. She was close to wolfed up, my teeth were burning. It's honestly quite annoying being connected to someone's shifter form. Pearl asked me if I could see our Reaper for her, but it hasn't spoken to me in weeks. It knew something was coming. She told me about this helmet, and how it messed with Scar. Grian's next. Knowledge is power, Jimmy. We need to know what that helmet's connected to. I'm doing some reading. Come find me in the Meadow if you can.

Jimmy had been packing when Grian came. But Xisuma had a new thing to look into: Scott, and this helmet. The way Scott had phrased it, the helmet had a hand in the way Grian was acting. Grian is not himself. X folded the letter and tucked it away, and set out to Scott's.

Scott's Meadow was stunning, hidden away on a hill, with rolling gardens, birds flitting above his head in the blue sky, sunlight bathing the grass in a golden glow, and blood staining the shattered bay window. Shards of glass were littered through the garden beds, the pieces sparkling atop the roses like dewdrops. Xisuma creaked open the door, an uneasy silence settling over him just like the layer of dust at Martyn's.

Smears of blood coated the glossy oak planks, leading towards the doorframe he had stepped through. It appeared Scott didn't plan on going through the window, and whoever attacked him made that choice for him. Walking with through the kitchen, he found a note was pinned to the dining table with a dagger. The handwriting was scrawled and slanted, and dated two days ago.

Pearl,

He's here. Grian doesn't sound like himself and his eyes are purple. Since when were his eyes purple? I know you wouldn't know better, because of the way we are, but it sounds… almost like a Reaper. Has possession by a Reaper been heard of before? I thought they couldn't fit in a mortal form.

fuck gtg

I left two books from the Elven Library. They're on the table. Stay out of my room.

-S

X clenched his fists, breathing out shakily. He couldn't worry about Scott right now, he needed to calm down and get to the library. His unsteady inhales didn't slow his heartbeat or silence the voice inside him that muttered Scott's dead. He followed the hallway away from the kitchen, passing door after door after door. Scott's house went on forever— it would cut into the hillside. An unassuming dark oak door interrupted the cut quartz walls, covered in cobwebs that were twice as dingy in the blinding cleanliness of Scott's house. It looked… intentionally dirty, like the grime had been painted on and the copper doorknob left unwaxed on purpose. He opened the door, flinching at the squeal of creaky hinges.

And inside, was the library.

Compared to its decrepit entrance, it was lit golden by candles and sunlight. There was a sweeping skylight that shone dappled sun onto the what must've been hundreds of shelves that were all in perfect condition, probably maintained by magic. He padded on the soft carpet and breathed in through his helmet's filter and managed to smell flowers even beneath layers of dirt. X would have to convince Scott to do whatever he did here to his art gallery.

Next to the door was a large table, and its legs were… carved chicken feet? On top of it were two tomes; one, a thick book on folklore and the other, a leatherbound journal. Xisuma flicked through the journal, finding it ended a halfway through. But the filled pages, were filled with Reapers. X wasn't a revenant, like some of his servermates, but he had heard of the interdimensional creatures. It was a record of Reapers, and revenants, and powers and abilities. He picked it up and tucked it in his pocket, promising himself that he would come back and ask to roam between the bookshelves. But Scott's house had given him all that it knew on the helmet.

Lizzie was last on his list, and the furthest away from Hermitcraft. Joel had lived here, once, and his space was obvious from the belongings left cluttered on the floor and the gaping absence of things in places that were 'his' areas, like she was afraid to move into where he was.

A door slammed at the back of the house, and he could pick up yelling from the back garden. It was the first sign of recent life in all of the places, and X hurried towards the door, almost tripping over a dog as it, too, sprinted towards the rising voices.

The sun was dimming, approaching the horizon. The bronze rays caught on the grass and three heads: one brown, one covered in netherite, and one pastel pink. It looked like they were arguing.

"No, Grian, I don't want to hear it! Where is Joel? You should know where he is! I didn't tell him to leave for Hermitcraft, only for him to disappear, you bloody lying—"

Scar raised his hands in surrender. "Hey now, Lizzie. Joel is fine, you don't have to worry. You just have to come with us."

Grian stayed silent, which was quite unlike him. X needed to know what the hell was going on.

"Grian!" He interrupted. "Where are they? The Hermits? And why are you here, Scar, I thought you were on break. And what on earth is all this about this helmet," he asked, trying to keep calm, but his voice rose and his hands shook. Goodness, he was such a failure of an admin.

Grian turned to look at him strangely: his head rotated and his body turned mechanically to follow. His wings stayed folded behind him. He still said nothing.

"Oh, hey X!" Scar greeted, but his eyes flicked between Lizzie and Grian. His cheek twitched like his grin wanted to drop. "Why are you here? I didn't realise you and Lizzie were that close," he commented. X went to protest, before he cut himself off. Sometimes it seemed like Scar's revenance was a silver tongue, rather than what it actually was.

Grian shifted on his feet, widening his stance. Lizzie seemed to be sizing X up. Scar glanced between all three of them, before settling on Xisuma.

"Listen, X, I don't think you should be here right now. You can catch up with our dear friend Lizzie later, yeah?" Scar suggested, his tone sliding towards threatening. X shook his head.

"I can't, Scar. I have a duty to the Hermits, and when so many go missing I need to look into it. And Grian is looking to be involved at the moment, so if I could just—"

"I don't think the Revenant of Void was asking a question," Grian said. X flinched. He didn't want to deal with manipulative interdimensional people again, not again, not again. He could faintly hear Lizzie panicking over the blood in his ears.

"What— why are you a Reaper, you shouldn't be a Reaper, Grian, fuck—" she gasped. "What have you gotten yourself into? Grian," she pleaded, reaching out to touch his shoulders. Xisuma couldn't help but feel immeasurable sadness for her; a friend for decades, not quite the same. Grian's face set as she grabbed his arm, before he pulled his arm back and brought it down across her face.

Lizzie gasped, hands coming up to cup her cheek. Eyeliner smudged around the bottom of her eyelid as she brushed her pink hair away from her cheek. When X saw the reddening handprint, he finally snapped back into his own body. Lizzie was yelling and her eyes glistened as he stepped between her and Grian.

"Grian, you can't just go around slapping people, goodness. What's gotten into you?" Xisuma protested. Grian glared at him, before jerking his head at Scar, who was staring off into the middle distance. Scar snapped to attention and approached Xisuma, weighed down with reluctance. He instinctively stepped back. Scar's mouth was moving, and X focused to cut through the static ringing in his ears. All Scar was saying was I'm sorry, I'm sorry, over and over and over. A tear landed on X's glove, and Scar stiffened like he was expecting a beating too.

"What are you doing?" Xisuma whispered as Scar laid his fingers on the back of his neck.

"I think you know," he replied, mouth set in a line and sad eyes that turned black, speckled with blue. Cold traced down his spine as something touched the back of his neck.

"What—" he gasped, reaching back to bat Scar's arm away, but his grip tightened in warning. His eyes widened as the sound of glass splintering filled his helmet, his helmet which was cracked with stress lines and faults. He couldn't see much (was he going to pass out? was he going to die), and darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision. Blinking away the black spots, Xisuma realised that literal skulk was growing on his visor, and he could no longer see out of his left eye. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"Sleep," Scar whispered. Xisuma's mind echoed with the command. A little voice pleading not again, not again. His limbs folded and his eyes closed. He was pretty sure Lizzie was demanding answers, her fingers flickering with flames and threats. He couldn't hear much over the blood roaring in his ears.

Skizz nodded. "G hasn't been past my place in ages— he promised me he would move the snails outside my pyramid. Every time I go to his house, he just nods and tells me he'll come soon. What a jerk!" He huffed. "Whatd'ya think, Dippledop?" Impulse shrugged.

"Usually Grian is always on our back about Magic Mountain meetings, but he hasn't mentioned anything for ages. Dude, he always looks so pale as well. Like he's sick or something. He doesn't even fall from my buildings to punch me anymore." He shrugged again. "I don't know, man."

"Don't call me creepy for this, but I've been checking on the feathers he moults, and there's been a lot less," Gem started. Joel raised an eyebrow.

"We don't all have a degree in everything ever, Miss Researcher," Joel laughed. "Not that I'm stupid. I'm smart, and intelligent, and really tall."

Gem punched him in the arm. "Anyway, less feathers is bad because it means that his wings aren't being taken care of like they should. He might be sick, or stressed, or something. I don't know. Maybe we should go check on him?" Gem suggested. They all nodded.

"I'll go," Mumbo volunteered.

"As will I!" Scar shouted, pumping his fist. Joel nodded. He wanted to go as well, but he hadn't spent that long with Grian on Hermitcraft— he had literally just joined. And while he saw him outside of the server a lot it was to kill him. For fun. Joel wasn't the best option; Mumbo and Scar, who had been his friends for seasons, seen him grow and change and die. They were much better choices for this. It made sense. Joel should've been there for him.

"Keep us updated, alright lads?" Joel asked. Joel couldn't be nervous. Not here. He wrung his hands under the table. Mumbo and Scar agreed, and started discussing with Impulse and Skizz about trying to lure Grian out of his house.

You wanted to volunteer, didn't you, a voice echoed in his mind. He tried to keep a straight face, but his jaw was clenched a lot more than a relaxed man's would be. No, I didn't, Gem. You're a liar, he shot back.

Uh-huh. For a voice in his head, she could convey sarcasm terrifyingly well.

Whatever. Could you keep it down in there? Joel asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Grian. He watched her from across the table as her face twisted into something guilty.

Oh, she responded. Sorry. I'm working on it, promise. Joel nodded. Part of him felt guilty for digging into that little insecurity of Gem's just to stop her talking about something, especially when he knew that she was newly reaped. He couldn't help but remember flooding his bedroom when he had come back from the end of Double Life, Lizzie shaking him awake with water dripping from her hair.

It's alright, he smiled. You're getting better already. Gem nodded, turning away. Joel wrung his hands under the table again, weighed down with guilt. Only a dick would dig into his friend's insecurities like that. The same kind of dick who finds killing those who trusted him fun.

"Right then!" Mumbo declared. "I think we're ready to go!" Skizz cheered. Water dripped down the back of Joel's neck and clenched his fists.

☆

Pearl was trying so hard to fix her wordle game— someone had come in and inputted some order of letters that broke it. At this point, she was tempted to sit on her farmhouse's roof and eat cake. Alas, work called.

"Pearl? Are you there?" Someone called from her front door. She sighed. Productivity was useless anyway.

Hurrying up the stairs, she caught sight of Gem through the door, tapping her foot. When Gem saw her, her shoulders relaxed a little, but her brow stayed creased with concern.

"Hello, Gem!" Pearl cracked open the door. "What— what brings you here?"

"Maybe this would be a better conversation for inside?" Gem suggested. Pearl nodded, ushering her inside and closed the door. She didn't like the way Gem glanced over her shoulder, like she expected something was coming.

Once Gem was seated on her table (instead of her lovely chairs. Typical), she took a deep breath and proceeded to slam her dagger to the hilt into a loaf of bread that had been left out to cool. Pearl flinched backwards, startled.

"Mumbo and Scar are gone, Pearl," Gem spat. Her eyes shone with bitter rage and angry tears. "Grian's sick, and I haven't seen him in two days. Scar's train is empty. No one in Mumbo's town have heard from him."

Pearl reached out for her shoulder, trying to leave a comforting pat, but Gem slapped her hand away. "That's not all. Impulse was at Skizz's six hours ago, helping him clean his wings, and now they're gone too." She exhaled shakily. "I just— I just don't know what to do? Maybe it's a sickness. Maybe they're all just sick. I don't know what to think, Pearl!"

Pearl stood, pulling Gem's knife from the bread. "They could very well be sick. We've had glitches like that before. Maybe talking to X might help? And you know Skizz and Impulse like to run off together. If they don't come back tomorrow, then we'll think of something, okay?" Pearl flipped the dagger and offered its handle towards Gem. "If something has happened, being angry in my kitchen won't help anyone."

Gem looked up towards her. "There's no reason Grian would be acting weird at all, right?" In that moment, Gem reminded her of some little kid, lost in a big world and wanting a little comfort. Pearl had to remind herself that this was a murderer. Maybe not here, but in another life. She knew that better than anyone. "Of course not, Gem," she smiled. "How about you go to bed? You can talk to Xisuma tomorrow."

Once Gem had closed the door behind her and launched into the sky, Pearl began cutting the bread. Halfway through her fourth slice, she froze. She couldn't have missed it. There was no way she didn't think of it earlier. She had delivered that helmet for Grian— the same helmet that caused Scar to flood the dock with skulk and his eyes go purple and act so… un-Scar-like. She didn't take the helmet with her. That package had been sitting on his dock, unopened, anonymous like any gift would be.

Fuck, that helmet would make anyone act strange. Who knows how long he would've been wearing it. Screw talking to X tomorrow, she needed to do something now. She knew she was spiralling, she needed a clear head to do anything, but all she could remember was Scar reaching out with his soulless purple eyes. Was he going to kill her, all those days ago? God, they were so fucked. She had to fix this. Her canines dug into her bottom lip. Surely there was someone who could help.

☆

It was the fourth day that Cleo needed twenty minutes to get out of bed. They were almost dead on their feet, and the server was alarmingly quiet. Magic Mountain was the most obviously empty: Gem, Scar, Mumbo and Skizz were all on breaks, and the others hadn't been out recently at all.

Even weirder, it was some sort of glitch that the admins couldn't find, let alone catch. And her reaper was still fucking silent. What a jerk.

Right. Despite being sick with a mystery bug, she still had work to do. The shopping district was a good start. They hadn't restocked their enchanted books in a while, and they had to check on their share of the Wolves of Wool Street. She strapped her elytra to her back, jerking at the leathery sensation against her shoulder blades. They closed their eyes to prepare themself to stand=, reminding themself that they had business to do. Cleo stepped outside and lit a rocket, launching into the sky.

"Cleo!" Someone yelled from the ground. They startled, dropping a few meters. Joe and Bdubs waved at them from the ground. She dived, stumbling to the ground next to them.

"Howdy, Cleo! Where are you off to?" Joe asked.

"Yeah! Actually, where are we off to!" Bdubs added, elbowing Cleo in the side.

They rolled their eyes. "My book store, and then the Wolves of Wool Street, and uh—" Cleo cut off as they stumbled. Two pairs of hands landed on her shoulders, pulling her upright. They shook them off.

"Oh my goodness— are you alright?" Bdubs asked.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. It's fine," she reassured. "Let's just get to my shop." Joe nodded, but Cleo didn't miss the way he kept her in his peripheral vision the entire walk to the Kitty Cafe.

When they arrived, even though they did need to restock, Cleo's new main priority was getting rid of Bdubs and Joe. While she loved them, their hovering was excessive, especially considering she had stumbled once. Instead, she checked their stock and made something up about how they were full (they most definitely were not), before continuing past the store.

"Oh! Would you look at that. Hypno's right outside his base. We should all go talk to him!" She said, pointing at the roof of cut copper and the little figure in front of it. Bdubs agreed, gushing about how he 'always love to see Hypno' and if 'he would want free bamboo'. After recieving Joe's approval in the form of a thumbs up, they continued onwards.

Cleo sighed in relief once she had successfully left Bdubs and Joe in Hypno's care, then launched themself into the air again towards the wool stalls. They landed without grace (again? Cleo had spent a week flying with Grian, they were better than this) in a patch of flowers nearby. Grian was standing on the opposite end of the row, buying red wool.

They spotted Pearl jogging towards Grian, one hand holding her hat on her head and the holding their messenger bag closed. He was the first member of Magic Mountain they had seen in almost a week, and Grian still looked like he should be taking a break with the rest of them. He was quite pale, almost as pallid as Mumbo, and his eye-bags were almost the same colour as his eyes. Speaking of which— when did Grian have purple eyes. Curious.

Pearl had slowed now, walking towards him and waving. He pivoted to face her, a perfect 90 degrees, and reached out towards her shoulder. She laughed, confused. Cleo felt a sudden sense of urgency, stomach dropping in their chest. But why? They had nowhere to be, Grian and Pearl would wait to include them in their conversation. She trampled a flower, and another as she began walking faster. There were more flowers, because they were in a field of flowers.

Dogs with vibrant dyed collars wagging their tails lined the sides of dirt path between wool stalls. And Grian—fuck, Grian— was holding bundles of wool and diamonds in his hands. Cleo broke into a run. They cried out, reaching forward.

Pearl looked up over Grian's head in surprise, and Cleo could see the little oh! her mouth formed. Grian's fingers landed on the top of Pearl's shoulders, and Cleo could hear the scream that was ripped from her throat before they disappeared.

No ender pearls, no rockets, no pistons. They were gone, just like she saw.

Cleo stumbled backwards and tripped over, landing flat on their ass in the dirt path. The wolves barked at her as she slid sideways, gravity pulling their head down onto one of the barrels holding brown wool. She was so fucking close to getting them. So close to stopping it from happening. Cleo hated it when she was right.

Five hours later, Cleo could finally open their eyes. Xisuma sat on a chair from her dining room next to the bed, a grim look on his face.

"Hey, Cleo," he greeted, voice soft. "I'm glad you're up. Another hour, and we might've had to start worrying about severe brain injury."

Cleo laughed scratchily, their throat grating. "I've been dead twice, X. I'm sure a little knock on the head can't be that bad." X's twisted forehead disagreed.

"Have you seen Pearl, Cleo? Or Etho, or Gem, or Joel, or Tango? Bdubs left a while ago, saying he would be back from a family trip in two hours, max. It's been eight, Cleo. I don't know— I don't know what's happening." He scrubbed a hand over his head, but she noted almost hysterically it probably didn't work very well because he was wearing a helmet.

"I saw Pearl… five hours ago, I think? Whenever I went out. Listen, I don't know where she's gone, but I'm beginning to have an idea what's going on." Cleo said. X nodded.

"He'll come for me or Ren next. I need you to warn the others, off-world," she instructed. "Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie. They're all next; there'll be no one left after me and Ren. X, you have to go find them, I don't care what the fuck it takes, just— just promise me," she hissed.

"You saw this, didn't you?"

"Fucking— just promise me, Xisuma."

He held his hands up in surrender. "I promise, Cleo. I'll deliver your message. Now, you need to tell me what's going on."

It had been two hours since Cleo had finished telling Xisuma anything and everything. Even the most outlandish of theories couldn't be ruled out. They finally fell into a fitful sleep, lulled by exhaustion and X's promise to deal with Grian. If Grian couldn't leave the server, he couldn't get anyone else. And then, they could figure out what was wrong with him. She could fix this.

There was a pattern to the disappearances, though. The Life members were being picked off, one by one. Grian was not quite himself. Cleo had no idea why. Martyn, BigB, Jimmy, Scott, Lizzie.

It was after two hours of restless sleep that Grian swung open her door.

"You want to do this? Hm? Who the fuck even are you?" They demanded as he stepped inside.

"I would've thought you were smarter than that, Revenant of Fate."

"Yeah, and I thought I would be dealing with something better than a coward who hides in another's skin. Boohoo, baby, can't show your face? Afraid of being busted?" Cleo taunted.

It laughed. Grian's eyes shimmered with silent threats. "Lots of talk from a mortal stuck in sleep. Didn't you have questions about your friends? You and the admin were trying so hard to guess. Why don't you go ask them yourself?" The thing launched itself at her, scrabbling at her arms. They landed a swift kick to its stomach, but it did nothing to stop the creature's assault.

Red threads tangled in her stitches.

"Curious. I didn't think the Reaper of Fate would show itself. It so loves to stay behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Too bad, you don't have time to talk at the moment."

She checked the stamp on the package to check that yes, she really had to go all the way to Grian's base on Magic Mountain. Pearl didn't pay much mind to the fact there was no return address or name on the package. The mail had to have come from one of the Hermits, and anonymous snail mail was common enough. Pearl knew that better than anyone; Gem had been complaining about her abundance of sea pickles for weeks.

The sun beat on the back of Pearl's neck, and she wished her post office hat was a little more practical. It was early afternoon, and her feet wished for a pair of elytra, but she finally saw Grian's little fishing village in the distance. Passing Skizz's pyramid and a flipping few of Gem's trapdoors, Pearl collapsed on Grian's dock, grateful to be sitting.

"Why hello there, Pearlie," someone giggled beside her.

"Holy fu- what?" She launched to her feet, dropping the package and spun to see an incredibly smug Scar snickering, making a very poor attempt at hiding it. Pearl poked him in the chest in mock accusation. "What are you doing here, Mr. Goodtimes?"

Scar waved her off. "Just breaking and entering, the usual. "She raised an eyebrow. "Not really, I'm here to drop off some parrots. Grian's never home though, it would be so wonderful if he could answer my messages." Scar huffed. "Anyway. Whatcha got there? Oooh, Grian's mail. Can I hold it hostage? It would be really, really cool to hold Grian's mail hostage."

"No, you can't hold Grian's mail hostage, Scar. I'm just gonna drop it off and leave. Don't meddle with it, or I'll hold your mail hostage," Pearl threatened.

"You're no fun!" Scar pouted. "Do you even know what's in it?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Scar. I'm a professional. I don't snoop through people's mail. I have a reputation to uphold."

Scar was making grabby hands at the box. "Just one peek! It won't hurt him! I pinkie promise, I won't steal it." Pearl frowned, but in the end, she was as much of a mail snooping goose as Scar. Curiosity itched at her to find out what Grian could be getting that was so incredibly heavy.

"Fine," she conceded. "But if we get busted, it's your fault." Scar nodded like he didn't hear her, preoccupied by opening the package. Pearl stared as the flaps were peeled away, revealing-

"It's just a helmet, Pearl."

"It's just a helmet, Scar," she echoed. She blinked, focused again. "Well, I don't know what you were expecting. A stack of gold blocks? A letter from Technoblade? Honestly." She tsked at him, smiling.

"Let's pack this up, yeah?" She suggested, reaching for the box. Scar didn't respond. "What do you think?" She turned to face him, but Scar had lifted the helmet onto his head. He looked up, and his eyes-

Scar's eyes were an alarming purple, void-like and empty. He cocked his head mechanically, and Pearl stumbled backwards, baring her teeth in a snarl. Her canines burned, a reminder that Scott can't help now, you're on your own, Pearl.

Scar reached out, stiff and a joint at a time, to touch her shoulder. He was pale, the blood was draining out of his tanned face. She ducked to the side and pushed him away from her, knocking the helmet off his head. But the arm kept reaching towards her, and ears pricked at the top of her head. She was going to die, and Scar was possessed or something, and they were so fucked and-

He froze, arm stopping in place.

"Scar?" Pearl asked, on guard in case he did something again. His eyes moved to look at her, widened in horror, before they fluttered closed and he collapsed to Grian's dock. Pearl tasted salt on her lips and iron on her tongue. Gem was always trying to get her to stop chewing her cheek. Pearl picked up the helmet and threw it in the box, sealing it. The sooner it was away and gone, the better.

Scar shivered a little, the sun now in her eyes. "Scar?" She whispered again. All his prone form did was twitch. His palms opened, and then Grian's dock wasn't homely spruce anymore. It was coated in veins of black and blue with a pulsing heartbeat of teal. Skulk. Skulk, and it was coming from Scar.

What the fuck do I do? She stepped away from Scar. What the fuck?

Scar took a sharp inhale. Pearl slid to his side. 'Oh my God' seemed like the extent of her vocabulary, like a chant that could make her forget whatever the hell had just happened. He squinted at her.

"Oh, sweet baby Jellie, my head hurts." Scar muttered. "Hi, Pearl. Why am I on the floor?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows, scanning around him like he expected to be attacked. "Why… what happened?"

Pearl shook her head. "I don't know, Scar. How about we get you back to your own bed, in your train, yeah? We can talk about it later." A selfish part of her hoped Scar never ended up asking. He nodded tiredly.

Twilight blanketed Scar's train as they arrived from Grian's dock. Pearl's neck dripped with sweat from hurriedly walking back and her near transformation. She was still alarmingly close to wolfed up, high-strung and alert. Scar muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Pearl asked quietly. If it were someone like Grian, they would've said nothing and sent her home. But it was Scar. Scar was never afraid of saying too much.

"I've never lost control like that before," Scar admitted, like he was afraid if he said it too loud it would happen again. "Or at least, not in a long time." He stared at his lap, fiddling with the hat lying in it. "The last time I had an outburst like that was after I— I mean, after Double Life ended." The after I first died hung between them in the chilly air of Scar's train. "I don't know why it would flare up now."

They sat in silence for a few beats and watched the stars move past his window.

"I think… I think I'm going to speak to my Reaper," Scar said. Pearl nodded. She didn't seem to do much apart from agree silently these days.

☆

Grian had just finished stocking the Prismarine Palace. After he had dumped all of his empty boxes and bundles in a nearby barrel, he went to his dock. Fishing sounded like exactly what he needed after hauling prismarine bricks around all day. He stretched his wings, fishing rod in hand and bucket hat on his head, only to see his entire dock covered in… skulk? Was someone pranking him? Maybe there was a skulk sensor down there, rigged to play a music disc. He tentatively stepped over to where it appeared to have come from. Nothing. Nothing except his entire dock covered in skulk. Ugh.

"What is going on?" He hissed. Unfortunately, the dock did not have an answer for him. Accepting his fate of painstakingly scraping off the skulk and replacing the planks tomorrow, he spotted the parcel left at the end of his wharf.

He picked his way over to open it. Inside lay a netherite helmet, glistening with magic and mid morning sunlight. He lifted it consideringly, studying the sides. Grian already had a quite nice netherite helmet (he wasn't a loser), but this one had a trim he'd never seen before. He traced it with his fingers. Placing it back in the box, he checked for a stamp, or a note, or something. Nothing. It wasn't that surprising— the Hermits sent anonymous mail to each other often and he wasn't about to complain about a free netherite helmet. He would wear it for a day or two. If he didn't like it, he could go back to his other one.

Grian set the helmet on his head. Leaning over the edge of the dock to see his reflection in the water, he noticed that the indents along the helmet were glowing now, a deep violet. Strange, but it seemed to suit him. It reminded him of the Watchers, from another life.

"Oh jeez, alright," he groaned. Someone gasped next to him, and the back of a hand laid over his forehead.

"No fever, good, good," they hummed. "'ere, love, drink this." The bitter taste of potions spread across his tongue as X blinked to some form of wakefulness.

"Good to see you up and at 'em, X. Found you in a pretty bad state," she chirped, but the shadows under her eyes gave away her optimistic charade. "I'm sorry about your helmet being gone— it was easier to treat you with it off, and it's all cracked and whatnot from the skulk." Stress plucked his empty potion bottle from his hands. "What were you doing? I hope Cub hasn't been messing around with that stuff on animals again."

"How… where did you find me?" X croaked. Stress signalled for him to stop speaking, and produced a bottle of water. While he was drinking, she answered, "Oh, the shopping district. The Wolves of Wool Street, actually. It was strange, considering it's quite a ways from spawn." Once he had finished the bottle, she took it from his hands and tucked it away with the other one.

"I didn't realise you went out. What were you doing?" Stress inquired.

Xisuma opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. What was he doing? There were no off world events. Maybe it was Cub.

"I don't know. Maybe we should talk to Cub?"

Stress shrugged."Sure, I'll call him in. Rest up for now, yeah?" He nodded, pulling up the blanket. She got up and closed the door behind her, blanketing him in twilight. He rolled onto his side, wincing as a hard shape dug into his hip.

"What—" he muttered, pulling it out of his pocket. A journal, neatly bound with leather and twine. He flipped it open, squinting at it in the dim light. Spiralling handwriting filled the page, and he placed it as Scott's, despite never seeing any of his writing before. And, it was a research journal about Reapers and revenants, powers and abilities, history and lore. A letter fell out halfway through, signed from Scott. At least now, he could confirm that the journal was Scott's. But why would he have it? Where had he been?

☆

Lizzie's cheek stung with the force of Grian's hand. Shock kept her pinned in place as Scar approached Xisuma. X stepped between her and Grian, hands held up between them. As if she needed protecting— she could burn the flesh from Grian's bones with a touch. At least, she used to be able to. This new Grian, this changed Grian, was one she'd never fought before. Lizzie was no stranger to betrayal, but only in the games— she had always been secure in the knowledge that they were friends despite it all.

And, Grian was a blumming Reaper, or something close to it. It had all gone horribly wrong.

"Sleep," Scar had hissed, splaying his palm flat against the back of Xisuma's neck, and skulk bubbled up the back of his suit, searching for skin. Glass fractured, then shattered, forming a semi circle in front of Xisuma, before he proceeded to fall to his knees, and sleep.

"What have you done? Oh my gosh, what are you doing? What's going on?" Lizzie spat, feeling her blood heat beneath her skin. Her fingertips lit with flames, sparks flitting from one to the next.

"Time to go, Revenant," Grian ordered. Scar stood up, lifting Xisuma with him. Lizzie didn't miss how he cradled his head and whispered something over and over. She didn't move.

"Where are you taking me? Where is Joel? What in the bloody blazes are you?" Lizzie asked, holding up her hands to attack.

"You already know what I am. Mortals made our names, and I do not abide by your laws," Grian (the Reaper?) said. Flames swallowed her palms, trailing to her elbows. "You should have known better, than to think a mere Revenant of Destruction could stand a chance." It laughed, moving forward. God, her reaper would be so pissed if it heard that.

Grian's arm moved forward and clasped around her elbow. She bent his arm away in a twist, ducking out underneath. Grian didn't move, or make a sound, yet his arm blistered and bubbled in the shape of her palm. A handprint for a handprint, she thought, bitter and victorious. Her fingers rekindled.

Suddenly, a pair of hands landed on each of her shoulders, trapping some of her hair with it uncomfortably. Scar held her in place as the cold slime of skulk veins spread down her arms. She thrashed, ripping a of chunk of flesh from Scar's wrist with her teeth, but Grian seized her wrists and pinned them to her sides, stopping her from burning the bastard.

The world fell away, and she saw the void and new worlds flickering beneath her as the oxygen was ripped from her lungs and her flames flickered out.

When she awoke, she was on a very hard mattress. Awareness brought her the observation that rather than a bed, she was lying on a thin blanket on top of a flat rock. God, her back was going to hate her for that. She moved to sit up, before two sets of hands pushed her back down.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," Scott warned. Lizzie blinked, the torch above her swimming.

"You're fluffier than usual," she giggled, batting at the shadowy ears that sat in his hair. He leaned away from her hand, snorting.

"Yeah, and you're stupider than usual."

"Hey! That's not very nice, man," Skizz chided.

Lizzie squinted at the angel. "When did you get here? Also, where is here?"

"A life series, we think," answered Scott. "I can explain, but I don't know much and it's probably a good idea to save it for when you don't have a massive headache."

The torch's light seems to grow warmer, soaking into her bones. Ever since she had been reaped, warmth hadn't been an issue with the nature of her revenance. Lizzie missed being warm.