Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
"Do you really want me to hit you again?" Jimmy asked, standing on the terracotta mound, as the grass bled into the mesa. His arm was on his hip, chin jutting out proudly, with his other hand resting at his his side holding the hilt of his sword.
"I mean, you only did, like, a heart and a half of damage," Scott said with a shrug. He wasn't scared of Jimmy, no matter what the Red Life tried. He knew Jimmy for what he had been and who he is now; a kind, loyal and energetic man with room in his heart for everyone yet no one at all. "After all that-"
"Do you really want me to hit you again?" Jimmy repeated, more sternly this time. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
"-effort." Scott finished.
"You really want me to try again?" His voice grew deeper, slightly confused but remained firm and threatening.
"I mean, is your task to just hurt me? I'm so confused." Scott blurted out. "Also by shouting a weird catchphrase of 'the florist is gonna get me."'
"Yeah?" Grinning, Jimmy edged a little closer. There was a hazardous tone to his voice that set Scott's nerves on edge. He couldn't help it.
"You have thirty seconds."
The memory of the previous game left a bitter taste in his mouth. Obviously Martyn deserved the win. That was never in doubt. But being stabbed in the chest, then burned alive by his closest ally was not on Scott's bucket-list.
Nor was having Jimmy betray him like that. But, ah well.
He moved on.
Scott hadn't, cursed with too many memories and burdened with pain, blood and remembrance.
"Okay." Scott said. He gently tapped his heels against the horse's sides, urging it a little back. "I- is that your name, The Florist?"
"N- no? Dunno what you're talking about." Jimmy tilted his head like a puppy, his hair falling over his eyes. The usual honey brown was rimmed with bloody red.
"Oh, 'kay, okay." His horse moved further back, at his own insistence.
"Watch your back, Scott, alright? Watch your back." Jimmy warned.
Scott didn't stick around much longer after that.
---
He watched Lizzie fail to kill him. He knew it from the moment she tried to have him step up to the ledge; it was obvious from how her voice was pitched, the tone, the way her hands seemed to twitch urgently at her sides.
Scott hadn't thought she would fall. Maybe trip a little, get hit by an Enderman.
But not fall.
He heard the crackling of the lightning bolt and looked away as it struck at the empty Void, the space where Lizzie had fallen. In her memory and honour, Scott listened to the rolling boom of the thunder that followed.
Jimmy's curse was gone.
The Canary Curse was broken.
He felt something bubble in his throat, a hoarse laugh of joy and pain mixed together in a horridly lovely cocktail. He thought of how Jimmy would react to it. He thought of the shocked widening of his eyes and how his mouth would fall a little. He imagined the shocked huff of breath, pursued by hysteric giggles as he ran forth and proudly declared the curse gone.
Scott was happy for him, truly.
...He still had questions about the whole 'florist' thing, but at least Jimmy had lost his curse.
It was an odd feeling, when it happened. Scott looked fondly upon the last game because of the tether that had snapped when he'd died; the knowledge that the curse was broken, that he'd no longer have to live until all his allies and friends were gone, that the weight had finally been lifted, had relieved him.
He had laughed and smiled and actually felt happy for the first time in years.
Two curses down. Now to break the rest of them.
Scott sat in his house, perched on his bed, with a book in his lap and a pencil in his hands. He turned to a blank page, then gazed pensively out his window and at the view.
He tapped his pencil against the corner of his lip.
In the past, he'd written about his allies and the chaos of the server. He'd documented the advancements made to the base. He recorded silly, useless details that had potential to become useful in the future.
Mostly though, he tried articulating his memories.
Other players - specifically the ones who hadn't been cursed blessed with victory - had poor recollection of past games. The memories were still there, they would still reappear from time to time, but mostly they lurked in the dark recesses of their minds until called upon. Those memories were old. They had no purpose to them other than to have them keep playing; the reward for victory, after all, was to remember.
Grian remembered everything. Scott knew that he remembered throwing himself off a cliff, cheating on Scar, his slow yet steady loss of his fellow Bad Boys until he had been left alone.
Pearl remembered everything, too. She knew about the trio he, her and Cleo had been in the past; how she had been abandoned by her soulmate yet still came out on top, and Scott took his life so she wouldn't have to suffer in that world longer; how she had at first been in a duo in the Nosy Neighbours, which soon became a trio.
Martyn remembered. He had been the Red King's Hand, his loyal soldier and servant who'd had the burden honour of taking his king's life. He, too, was left by his soulmate and had spent weeks trying to undo his wrongs and get back in her good books. He had been Scott's only ally in the last life game, loyal and devoted, and had taken the mantle of victor.
Scott knew what they remembered, because they had told him. In the cold, empty Void, awaiting the next game as they sat alone with no company but each other, they didn't have much else to do except share what they remembered.
He remembered flower fields with Jimmy, a poppy tucked behind his ear and a wedding ring of twine around his finger. He remembered his allyship with Pearl and Cleo, which split into a duo in the life game afterwards. He remembered the fish tail that had swished behind him and still half-expected it to be there at night.
Most of all, they all remembered the pain.
Scott had tried articulating his thoughts, writing them on paper to go over later. It didn't work, predictably. But the sentiment had been there.
Martyn and Jimmy were Red Lives now.
It was an odd thought. Jimmy had never had the best luck in the games, always being the first one to be eliminated from the game. He had been a terrible ally - always so accident-prone and clumsy - but he'd also been joyful and kind. He had been as vibrant as the colour of his canary wings, and burned as bright as the sun.
It seemed sensible that Jimmy would go down so quickly.
Martyn, on the other hand...
Martyn was vicious. He was ruthless and cunning and quick. In the heat of battle, his sword always struck true. He was a fighter, from birth to death. He did not die easily.
But, like all of them, he was mortal. And he was human. He was subject to such things as mortality.
Scott scribbled this down as best he could. His handwriting, normally pristine and fancy, was erratic and scruffy. The others would probably think someone else wrote this, but the winners would know.
They always did.
He set down his pencil and lay down, staring up at the ceiling.
His bed felt cold.
He sat up again and rose to his feet. He shuffled to his door, opened it, stepped outside into the cool night air and began to walk. Where, he couldn't say. His feet were carrying him in whichever direction they saw fit.
Scott left behind the plateau on the mountain and approached the open field at Spawn.
He spotted Martyn standing there awkwardly, yawning and dragging his feet along the ground.
"Martyn? What are you doing up this late?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," Martyn replied. His eyes glimmered red, sparkling rubies or flowing blood. Either way, they were beautiful. "Besides, a little Green Life out here, with no protection, and with a Red Life no less."
"You wouldn't try anything."
"Wouldn't I?"
"No." He spoke with conviction. He slowly drew nearer to the Red Life and paused a few centimetres from him. Scott cupped Martyn's cheek, and the Red Life leaned into the touch ever so slightly. There was hesitation in his eyes.
Martyn sighed, taking a step back. "I want this to end."
"You want to go back to the Void that much?"
"No? Yes? I don't know! It's... it's frustrating." He folded his arms and stared at the floor. "I just want things to be clear again. I want to talk to you without feeling the urge to rip your arms off. Hell, I want to talk to people in general!"
Scott grabbed Martyn gently by the arm. Without a word, they both travelled up to Pearl's base. He knocked on the door and was met with the image of Pearl - bushy hair, bags under her eyes - grumbling to herself.
"What?"
Scott, with Martyn in tow, pushed past and into the room. "Wait here," he commanded. "I'll be back soon."
He quickly ran up to the plateau, silently sneaking into his house and taking the bed. He legged it all the way back, using the diving board for assistance. He placed it down up against a free spot on the wall.
Pulling the covers back, he hopped in and patted the space next to him. Martyn nervously crawled in.
Pearl watched them awkwardly. Then she sent out a message via her comm.
"We're having a winners' sleepover." she stated.
Scott nodded.
Grian appeared a few minutes later, with two other beds. He placed them near to Scott's and the other two victors got under the covers.
"To victory, and shitty memories." Scott said, and the others repeated it.
Scott and Martyn tangled in each other's limbs with a small smile on their faces. It felt good, to be like this again. He'd missed it.
As slumber overcame him, Scott had one final thought.
He was home.
Scott was fed up. He glared at Jimmy, currently squatting on an open trapdoor with his arms stubbornly folded across his chest and a determined look in his eyes. It was a familiar look for Scott, one he'd have seen in the first set of death games when him and Jimmy had been friends - even closer than that - rather than enemies or allies.
But that was in a different time, when Scott was content living with Jimmy.
Now he wanted him out. And quickly.
He tightly gripped his flint and steel, maintaining eye contact with Jimmy's warm brown eyes.
"You've got ten seconds to get out before I set you on fire." His voice was calm, like the sea before the storm. His eyes burned with controlled anger, a wildfire that he would only push inside until he lost all inhibition as a Red.
Jimmy adamantly stood his ground.
Scott began to count down slowly, stepping closer like a predator stalking their prey. With each number ticking down his voice grew lower and lower.
"Three." Sparks flew from the flint and steel. "Two." Fear flickered in Jimmy's eyes as the realisation set in that Scott was serious. "One."
Scott lit the ground around Jimmy on fire, watching the flames climb higher with ravenous hunger. Jimmy yelped and began to jump around. Following, Scott lit and put out fires with incredible speed. When the flames latched onto Jimmy's skin, searing pink flesh, a smile stretched across his face.
Jimmy panted heavily, landing on a higher trapdoor. His arm was singed, the jacket and shirt sleeves practically ribbons.
"I'm not leaving." Jimmy said, his tone convicted.
That only left Scott with more of a challenge. His grin widened with the idea of a new game, a chance to see how long it'd take, how many injuries Jimmy would sustain, before he finally decided to back off.
Scott balled his fists and drew closer. Jimmy tried to jump, but couldn't get past Scott. He fell into a corner, his palms flat against the walls.
He reared his fist back and slammed it into the wall next to Jimmy's head. The blond flinched, eyes wide and panicked, yet still containing that flame of determination.
"Five seconds. Or I'll be punching you instead of the wall." Scott pulled his fist back. He looked at the dent he made in the wall with pride.
Jimmy, in typical Jimmy fashion, did not back down.
"Five." He balled his fist. "Four." Into the wall. "Three." Pulled back. "Two." Grabbing a fistful of Jimmy's shirt, yanking him closer. "One."
Scott slammed his fist into Jimmy's nose.
Thick red blood ran down his face, yet he made no reaction. Scott, frowning, prepared to hit him a second time.
Jimmy sprung into action and darted past him. A growl escaped Scott's lips and he trailed after him, blood staining his hand.
Upon him moving towards the entrance, Jimmy flung himself forward once more and back onto the high trapdoor. He wiped the blood running down his face but didn't clear it away, only leaving a smear behind.
"I. Am not. Leaving." Jimmy enunciated each word with a new wave of fury.
They both breathed heavily, chests rising and falling in unison.
Scott, for a moment, wondered why exactly he was doing this. Greens weren't meant to be particularly violent, yet there was no denying that there was a bloodlust that burned inside him, the kind that only a Red could achieve.
His vision went red.
A familiar weight fell into his hands. An axe, he realised. Scott glared at Jimmy.
This time he gave no warning. He lunged immediately, lifting the axe up and bringing it down in a swift arc on Jimmy's chest. The scream that followed was euphoric to Scott.
Finally, Jimmy fled. He sprinted past Scott, coughing and wheezing and hacking, barrelling out the door and into the open.
The axe dropped onto the floor. Scott stared at it, the blood on the blade and his hands. On his clothes. Even his shoes. Scott left his house with the desire to see himself guiding him towards Gem's diving board and flinging himself off of it.
He landed in the water and swam to the land, climbing onto it. Scott peered at his reflection.
Scott was covered in blood, although some of it had been washed off in the fall. His hair clung to his forehead, his eyes flickered red, then settled back on green. Blood was smudged on his cheek - how had it gotten there? It was all over his shirt, covering the green on it, and splattered on his trousers. The edges of his shoes were stained with a mix of blood and dirt.
He didn't look like a Green. He looked like a Red.
Scott fell to his knees, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He was cackling, bent over and clutching the ground. Dirt crept under his fingernails and each laugh out of his throat was like coughing blood.
He didn't recognise himself. Not really. He wasn't a Green. He was the spitting image of a Red. Of someone who'd lost every ounce of self-restraint. Someone wild.
He looked like Pearl, who went Red early in Double Life, even though she was still on her first life.
He looked like Martyn at the end of the previous life game, dirty with blood and grime and sweat, but cackling and joyful with madness.
Scott looked like a Winner.
It was spreading. His colony was growing every day. Bit by bit, it was expanding out of the corners he had planted them in and moving out into the daylight.
A smile curled at his lips.
He could feel them all even from the comfort of his home. Tiny tendrons snaking forwards. Miniscule mushrooms bursting out of the ground.
Everything was going according to plan.
---
Gem was the first, that he knew of, to notice.
Mushrooms were just...growing! Behind the house she'd made in her first life!
Really, they shouldn't be growing there. It wasn't the right habitat and there were no other patches of them elsewhere nearby.
Someone must have put them there. Surely.
Although, there was a huge amount of them. How had she not seen them before? It wasn't that well hidden. Not when they peeked out into her line of sight rather prominently.
Perhaps she should get rid of them. Or at least build something to keep them contained.
She didn't want them getting any closer.
---
The others had large patches, too.
Jimmy's patch of mushrooms were a stark contrast to the pinks and whites of his area. The dull grey of the mycellium was obvious against the emerald grass surrounding it, and the mushrooms were rather out of place amongst the flowers.
fWhip had a decent amount as well, perhaps the biggest of all of them. He didn't seem to notice them yet. Good. His area was large enough that they'd probably stay hidden for a while longer.
And Sausage? Obviously there were a couple mushrooms there as well! Hopefully, like fWhip, he wouldn't notice them just yet. The mushrooms there had grown considerably. It'd be a shame if he found them and took them down.
---
Of course if any of them did dare hurt them, Scott would retaliate.
Gaia be damned. She'd appreciate it, really. He was helping!
He sat in his home, taking a bite out of a cabbage roll that he didn't need to eat anymore. The taste was bland, nothing like how it had been in his last life as a transporter. Most food had lost its appeal.
The mushrooms outside his house were slowly beginning to creep down towards the rest of his area.
Perfect.
My ideas for (some) of the creators in New Life as heroes or villains.
Heroes:
Jimmy - 'Cold Guy'
Gem - 'Inferno'
Sausage - 'Phoenix'
Owen/Sparrow - 'Copper'
Jimmy can manipulate ice to obtain super speed as well as create icy barriers to shield himself and others. Some joke that his abilities and Martyn''s are so similar that they could be siblings, but Jimmy refuses to divulge whether or not he was born with his powers.
Gem can control and manipulate fire. She accidentally burned fWhip with it when they were children and has never forgiven herself for it since. She believes he is dead.
Sausage can also manipulate fire, but unlike Gem, he can use it to fly as well as being able to heal people in a close radius to him. As a result, he chooses to fight long-range to avoid accidentally healing the villains he's fighting.
Sparrow is more durable and can fight longer than the others, as well as needing less rest and food. He tends to go on nightly patrols because of this. He stays away from Scott as they were friends as children.
Villains:
Scott - 'Mycellium'
Martyn - 'Blizzard'
Pearl - 'Golem'
fWhip - 'Trickster'
Scott has the power to summon and control fungi, and can grow them on people and animals to control them. In the past he used his ability on Jimmy, and Jimmy now has a scar on his chest from it.
Martyn can control ice to make himself impervious to attacks. He, like Jimmy, refuses to reveal how he got his powers, but for very different reasons. Martyn has scars all over his body and only Scott knows the reason for them.
Pearl has the same abilities as Sparrow and uses them so that she can carry out the harder work with less risk (e.g: bigger heists with higher risk of injury, taking on cops/vigilantes whilst the others continue what they're doing). She refuses to fight Sausage, but can't recall or explain why.
fWhip can shrink himself and uses this ability for breaking and entering, as well as stealing. Gem believes he died, but in truth he just shrank himself and ran away. He hasn't told her the truth, but holds nothing against her.
So what do you think? Who else could be a hero/villain? Any interesting backstory ideas?
Some people thought that being given a new origin, a new chance at life, was painful. Essentially, their DNA was being rewritten at an impossible speed to comprehend. Blood would boil ferociously like torrential waves in a storm, skin would bubble and burst, bones would crack and pop. Organs would shift proportions and positions to accommodate new things; additional or less organs than before, larger internal power sources.
Others thought it was painless. A pain that would never be felt. Their bodies would go numb to anything except for a faint tingling that ran through them like miniature jolts of electricity.
It was both, and neither.
---
Jimmy knew it well. He knew the cold clutches of the Void, an endless expanse that none could run from. He knew the wandering eyes that spectated everything he did. Knew the ears that pried in on every conversation, every tiny and insignificant sound. Knew the voices that whispered, buzzing with a variety of emotions, mostly excitement.
For once, he could feel the phantom burden of heavy wings on his back. Bright yellow, practically glowing, and fluffy.
Canary wings.
Hands glided across his skin with light and feathery caresses.
The voices all said the same thing: Mine. Mine. You belong to us. You are ours. Our little canary. Your life is ours.
A shiver ran down Jimmy's spine.
Because he was theirs, wasn't he? They moulded him. He was made to be whatever they wanted. They were the gods and he was the human they sculpted out of clay.
So even when their touches hurt, even when they got possessive, he did nothing.
What was a mortal to a god?
---
Sparrow couldn't remember the last fragments of his life as a human. Perhaps that was for the better.
It must have been painful. Right? It didn't seem like a painless process. Even though he couldn't feel much anymore, he could still feel a phantom ache in his chest where is lungs once were. His body was smaller. Colder, due to the copper metal of his skin. Not human at all.
A machine. Just like the ones he used to make.
It was ironic, really. The creator became the created.
The dullness in his body would never leave him. Like a parasite that latched onto him and refused to relinquish its grip. A constant reminder of what he did in order to become one of them.
Because that was all he wanted, wasn't it?
To be one of them.
---
Scott couldn't really comprehend it.
The Void encapsulated him. Accommodated him. It let him teleport to his heart's content, even if everything was the same ever-stretching expanse of darkness.
Sometimes he wished he could still feel the nausea from teleporting. To feel something, anything, other than emptiness.
But that wasn't an option.
He could feel his body being changed. Pointed ears, antlers growing from his skull, gills and fins, a gold eye that saw magic, scars on his arms from an injury he couldn't remember, a long rat's tail, sharpened canines. Blurred flickering memories. Hundreds of weird mutations, an amalgamation of parts.
The strings of each world were wrapped around him in a suffocating embrace.
And then he was reborn.
It's over now.
Joey disappeared into the sunset. The sea churning below, wind in his hair. The rhythmic action of rowing the boat calmed him. No matter what, the sea would always call to him like the sirens that lived in its majestic waters. He was glad to not be alone. With others by his side, traversing the sea was even better.
Joel had ascended. He'd always known Jimmy was a toy; that reassurance wasn't exactly needed, but was satisfying. And even if Hermes...didn't seem to like him, at least his son was grown up now. And everyone left him. So he made his goodbyes and joined the other Lore Gods.
Scott and Owen were adventuring together. Scott delighted in the thrill of the risk; the dangers that came with raiding tombs and collecting things. Even if that skull came to mind, Owen was always there to comfort him. He was rarely afforded privacy with Owen, but he didn't mind. They both did things for Chromia, even though Scott definitely did more. Adventure called to them both, and they were kindred spirits bonded together with it.
Shelby eventually chose her track of magic. Lightning coursed through her veins, and the storms bent to her will. She grinned as the rain poured outside her home. That date with Katherine had been wonderful. Perhaps she could go on one with her later. But that letter in her letterbox wouldn't read itself.
Katherine's curse was gone now. Even though her parents weren't too keen on her monster-hunting, the monsters would always exist. Who else would get rid of them? She delighted in protecting her kingdom. And visiting Shelby didn't sound too bad. She did promise a date after all.
FWhip smiled as the racket of the tavern filled his ears. Downing another goblet of mead, he wiped his mouth with his hand and joined the drunkards in their joyful melody. Ecstasy rode through his veins and he did nothing to stop it. Surrounded by friends, he eased into his own comfort.
Pix was satisfied. He'd done everything he'd wanted. Pride flowed through him as he looked upon everything he had accomplished and he couldn't resist the relieved grin that curled at his lips.
Jimmy protected Tumble Town as best he could. The Old Sheriff was brilliant to be around, if not a little odd from time to time. He was content. Sure, there'd be bandits one way or another. The law would always need upholding. But for now? Rest sounded good. And being with the Old Sheriff? Seemed like a nice ending to him.
Oli's Olipeligo was beautiful. His own refuge. His home. Old memories of old faces still popped in from time to time, but he didn't need them. Memories of the Orb, of vampires and angels, of thornlings and dragons, had all but gone now. Replaced by collectors and princesses, by sheriffs and gods and goblins.
Everyone's reign was over. Would new ones begin, or were the history books finally complete?
For now, their reigns had come to an end.
It was over now.
The sun in Tumble Town was scorching. The air was hot and heavy as tumbleweeds rolled through the streets. The tavern teemed with life, many coming to hear stories or play games or just to relax with a drink and forget about their troubles. Children ran about playing games within their imagination; some took on the roles of mighty dragons or fearless warriors, powerful witches and royalty. No tiny corner of stories was free from the whimsical nature of each fickle child running amok.
And away from it all, down at the lagoon, two rulers were finally starting to relax.
Sausage wasted no time in gleefully diving into the water. With a comically large grin on his face, he plunged into the lagoon and let out a mighty laugh as the cool water collided with his skin. He resurfaced, shaking his head. His hair, now wet, fell over his eyes, some parts sticking to his forehead.
Scott followed soon after. A peculiar mix of reckless elegance, he leapt into the water with a ginormous splash. The water felt natural around his skin. Familiar and inviting. For a second he could feel the phantom feeling of scales on his skin and gills. But just as quick as it came, the feeling dispersed like a school of fish approached by a predator. He, too, resurfaced with a calm grin. His eyes sparkled with delight.
The two rulers laughed. They could forget their duties to their homes for now. Because they weren't rulers at the moment. They were just two friends enjoying themselves on a hot day.
Neither had paid much attention to the cod statue. It set off an untouched part of their minds, scratching at an itch they didn't even know existed. Seeing the statue felt satisfying, in some way. They couldn't explain the feeling that washed over them, but chose to blame it on the heat and the water.
And as Scott had pointed out, their tattoos did form a heart. A heart of colour and vibrancy, and of a floral beauty rooted to the earth. The whimsy of magic and all of its bizarre and wondrous reaches, and the nature of existence in sentience and material.
It didn't take long for Jimmy to spot them both. Seeing two shirtless men at a lagoon wasn't exactly common in Tumble Town. Nor were the tattoos that either man possessed. No resident in Tumble Town had a tattoo so bright and colourful, nor one so floral and rooted. He was able to identify both of these men almost immediately.
They welcomed Jimmy with open arms and a bright smile. And after a bit Jimmy joined them in the water with the (mandatory) adopted goblin child with him.
Soon afterwards fWhip joined them. And whilst the goblin ruler did not really go in the water that much, he was still pleasant company.
And even though the sun was setting, it had no effect on the quartet. No sunset would dampen their joy because their joy reached further than the farthest horizons.
Alas, they had to depart. They did have their own homes to rule after all.
But they wouldn't forget their beach day, no matter how distant and foggy that memory would become.
He had died to Martyn before. In the first hunt when was the final Green left. He had begged, screaming through the water for his ally, his fellow Mean Gill to kill him. He had smiled as his friend plunged the sword into his chest and finally ended the hunt, bringing on the Yellow Mellow Era.
He wouldn't have had it any other way.
He had lived on, thriving on the Coral Isles. He had watched as they were destroyed. By TNT, primarily. Time and time again his Isles had been bombed by the others. He'd rebuilt it every time with Martyn's help.
He wouldn't have lived his life any other way.
He had gone on a hunt. Recklessly killing those who had tormented him during the hunt for extra time. He'd stolen hours. He'd done so with pride. And yet, he had no regrets. No regrets, even as more and more blood stained his already red hands. No regrets, even when the voices in his mind cursed at him for doing so. No regrets, even when he knew the other versions of him, somewhere in their own SMPs, were frowning upon him for being so primitive.
He wouldn't have killed them any other way.
He stole as many hours as he gave away. Allies came running to him in a desperate plea for the time he had. They would offer a trade for him; items in exchange for time. But that wasn't necessary. He had more than enough time on his hands. He would've given it away regardless of a reward. He'd grin foolishly at how his allies would thnk him graciously for his generosity.
He wouldn't have given away his hours any other way.
He recalled the last few moments he had left. Impulse and Martyn had taken two of his hours, one each. They were all on a level playing field. Equal chances of death. One or so kills would be enough to end their lives and stop their clocks. He had gripped his sword tighter than he ever had before in his life. The roar for blood pounded in his ears. The ticking of his timer resonated with every heartbeat, every breath, every subtle twitch of bloodlust. His entire body ached with the need for blood. For more time. For survival.
He had died to the hands of an ally. He had finally broken his curse. He no longer had to outlive the ones he loved most. He no longer had to look out over an empty plain with an ache in his chest as his heart yearned for the touch of his closest friends, sometimes even lovers. First it had been the sweet, wonderful Jimmy who he had been married to during the first game. Pearl was second, the amazing and helpful friend she was. Cleo, the not-soulmate he had made to spite how their soulmates had mutually abandoned them. And Martyn. Protective, comforting Martyn. A loyal soldier until the end. He had saved Scott's life countless times in this game. He had long lost count of how many times the two of them gave and took lives in the effort of elongating their ally's life. He lost count of the nights they had sat together, warm in each other's arms as they stared at the waves lapping at the shore of the Coral Isles. The traps. The small domestic moments they shared. The joy.
And even as Martyn stabbed the sword through his chest with the ruthlessness of a man so numb to killing it no longer hurt to slaughter his closest ally, he couldn't help how joyful he felt. His curse was broken. He could finally die without grief weighing down his heavy heart. He could be brought back to seeing his friends after the games as their ghostly forms floated about to oversee the end. He no longer had to weep at the sight of his friends.
He watched Martyn win with a warm heart and happiness pumping through his blood. The curse breaking would upset Them. They would be furious. He laughed at the thought. He really had denied them every time. Only on this occasion, it had been with the help of another that he had defied Their wishes.
He gave the order. He told Grian to do it. He watched Martyn be killed in the blissful peacefulness he had experienced many games ago. And he threw himself into Martyn's arms desperately, relishing in how his ally hugged back.
Scott wouldn't have had this any other way.
Not one bit.
Since Pix withered away and lost the crown, I had this AU forming in my head. I wanted to get it out here, and I'm working on a fanfic of this AU for myself. I might post some chapters, but I might just leave it as this.
Suspects: Scott, Katherine, Sausage, Shelbie, Joel
Detectives: Jimmy, fWhip
Victim(s): Pix, maybe Joey and Lizzy
Side characters: Oli, Gem, False
Pix would get murdered either at his museum, or at the tea party Katherine held. Jimmy would arrive a couple hours later, and the investigation would begin. Scott would be interviewed first seeing as he just acquired the crown Pix had before. Katherine hosted the event, so she'd be second on the list. Sausage handed out drinks, so if the cause was linked to poison then Sausage would also be interviewed. Shelbie would've been seen acting off after the death, which would make her a mild suspect. And Joel would be interviewed by fWhip because Joel would mock Jimmy to death before spilling any important info.
Joey or Lizzy could die next, Lizzy as a means of hurting Joel, and Joey as a means of directing the murderer to Shelbie or Katherine.
Oli would try to calm the group down, and would offer some help to Jimmy and fWhip, but ultimately wouldn't help much. However, he would still be useful as he'd be the one to potentially intervene during a heated argument between the cast.
False would provide some insight into Pix just...as a character, and try to provide motives for the others. She'd mostly try and stay out of the whole thing, but would pitch in when called upon.
Gem would give a detailed account of the night and be a useful witness, because I think she'd be observant enough to notice some small details prior to Pix dying.
That's it! It's not a ton of stuff, but I still think it's pretty fun.
Bye, have a great day/night!