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?
The vines dug into his skin sometimes. An unhelpful reminder of what he had lost.
They were like chains, in a way.
He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how his hair changed; from a bright cyan to a pale ivory tainted with blotches of red.
Every time he passed a body of water and gazed at his reflection, he couldn't help but think he looked familiar. He remembered fangs, long and pointed and sometimes uncomfortable in his mouth. He recalled how similar his cloud jump was to abilities he'd long forgotten; sometimes he'd jump up into the air and think about switching places with an angel.
But, as far as he knew, no one on the server was an angel. No one he knew closely.
Sometimes he would feel hungry. Phantom-hunger, if you will. Because he didn't need to eat anymore. But he'd still wish he could eat.
He'd probably kill to be able to enjoy the taste of cabbage rolls or pumpkin soup.
Would probably kill himself in order to get it.
As he sat on the balcony of his house, staring at the starry sky, he remembered.
He didn't remember anything specific; all the memories were murky, and most of the faces were blurred to the point where they couldn't be recognised. But he took note of other details. Like cod, cats called Norman, fields of poppies. Kingdoms of snow and golden antlers. Of rat tails, attics and giant feline catastrophes. Of necromancy, loneliness and dances with time.
They all mixed together in a strange cocktail of memories that both were and weren't his.
Scott clutched at an ache in his chest; a yearning for knowledge.
He sighed and looked up at the sky. Running his tongue along his teeth, he could almost imagine feeling fangs. But they weren't there. Because he was a fungal mage.
His hands itched. The pain of hurting a mob - he couldn't be bothered to remember which one - pulsed through his veins. Gaia had cursed him in that moment. He'd hurt someone, betrayed being a 'peace keeper' and paid the price for it.
How many people had he upset in the past?
Gaia, goddess of the earth. Mother Nature. She had given birth to the Titans and Giants. A powerful entity that was not to be messed with under any circumstances.
There were others, too. In a past life long ago, he'd killed an angel. And as a result, he was cursed to burn in the sun.
His own patron god, Aeor, and his brother Exor. How long had he been a devoted worshipper of the Stag Gods? How much of his life had he dedicated to following Aeor's wishes, to pleasing him, to keeping people safe, for nothing? Because he did everything in the end. He was the one to seal the demon away at the cost of his own life. And neither of the gods batted an eye.
He'd upset Them, too. Hundreds of pairs of eyes that Watched eternally. They despised him because he refused to play Their games properly. So he was made to constantly outlive his closest allies. Other than one.
Scott was a danger. To himself and to everyone around him.
The vines - nay, chains - dug into his skin.
He deserved them. He deserved the chains, for they were keeping him from hurting others. A criminal, a thief, a killer - all of those titles belonged to him - deserved the chains that kept them contained. That shackled them to their crimes.
He took a glance at the moon, and the stars surrounding it.
The moonlight shone down on him in a warm embrace. As did the stars.
The stars seemed to form a halo around Scott's head.
Scott curled up and allowed his eyes to droop shut.
Gaia's curse, as all the other curses placed upon him, would never leave him.
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.
This wasn't good.
Not in the point of view for the court, anyways. Killing the person who decided to sue you wasn't a good look. At all. It just made him look really guilty and...pretty much made him lose any chance he'd had of avoiding being sued.
Ah well.
To be fair, he usually marked lots of things, and he'd completely forgotten about...that. It just wasn't very memorable! The guy sued him for counts of murder (that weren't accurate, he'd killed more animals than that) and for having a scottish accent, as well as a lack of empathy towards animals.
Well, he was sorry for the creatures that had to put up with him. Sorry for the animals that everyone on the server practically kidnapped and shoved into a pen to breed until it wasn't good enough, and then slain.
He certainly wasn't the worst person on the server. After all, Jimmy had put his sheep in his already-cramped house, as well as replacing parts of his floor with dirt and using it to grow crops. He'd helped fWhip and Sausage with grabbing those villagers! A tiresome affair really, especially with all the countless teleporting he did.
Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could find a way around this like he could with getting out of sticky situations. Mark a few people, do enough scare-teleports and perhaps he can get some friends to help him out. Forcibly, if the need arose.
He wasn't going to let himself go down that easy.
---
He was furious!
The darkness had suffocated him, a stark contrast to where he'd been before. The squelching sculk underfoot clawed at his ankles in an angered grasp, squeezing and scratching. The Warden barrelled towards him, the souls trapped within its chest pulsing brightly.
He felt his body practically disintegrate. Within moments he was dead and buried. All because he'd been unlucky. Because he'd made the mistake of letting someone mark him, and he'd paid the price for it. He should've kept himself at a distance. Should've made a glass barrier between them. Anything to prevent being marked.
But who was he kidding? The guy gave him gifts before reading the book saying he'd be sued! He'd gulped down the lump of guilt in his throat as everything conspired.
He wouldn't let himself make that mistake a second time. Not again. No, when he respawned he'd be far more careful. If he wasn't, then he may be the first to die permanently. How many lives did he even have left? How many did everyone have left? How much longer did everyone have to live, lives to use up, before inevitably perishing?
He didn't know.
The darkness had suffocated him and spat him out.
The Nether was truly perilous.
Two lives had been lost to the cruel domain. It stole and stole the life that organisms thrived upon, and stole even more. The Nether stripped its inhabitants of all things that linked them to any other dimension. The Nether was a horrid entity that hungered for all creatures that wandered in and out of its realm to become one with its lands.
Scott knew this well. But he still needed the resources.
The transporter entered the Nether with a vague knowledge of it. Lava tended to be everywhere, so he couldn't just teleport freely like he could on the Overworld. Monsters of all kinds resided here, too, and there were certain requirements to fulfil in order to ensure he didn't get attacked.
So, hastily crafting a pair of golden boots and pulling them onto his feet, he continued on.
He landed somewhere beautiful. Because whilst the Nether was dangerous and unforgiving, it was beautiful in a way no other dimension could be. Scott had been spat out of his portal in a corner of the Nether with greenish-blue and pearly colours everywhere. The warm hues of the faded light of lava cast contrasting tones of light onto the cool-coloured area.
Looking down at his body, pale and adorned with colours of teal and orange, there was the strange feeling that he somewhat belonged here. As if, somehow, this area was made with him in mind. Or perhaps he had been created in the image of this part of the Nether.
But he wasn't in the right area. So, Scott attempted to return home via the sheep he'd marked before his departure.
...
Nothing. He was just in a different area. The generic part of the Nether, with lava flowing everywhere, the dull crimson of netherrack and the faint growls of creatures.
Scott tried again. Tried teleporting back home again.
Still nothing. There was still lava everywhere. The heat was absolutely scorching. If he'd been Martyn, he probably wouldn't have survived more than a couple minutes.
Well. All he could do now was make his own portal and see where on the Overworld he ended up.
Only, he didn't have obsidian on him. Not enough for a return portal.
This was going to be a long day. Or was it nighttime?
---
Sparrow had been working for hours.
Staring at the machinery, hoping it would assemble itself, he let his mind wander. This may not work. He may not be able to get powers like this. After all, there was no guarantee that he actually was a hybrid.
Although he remembered, before his journey here, that some people used questionable means in order to attain powers. Dangerous ones. Ones that were severely unethical.
But if that was all it took, was it not worth it?
With a tired sigh, he stood up. Sparrow's mind was not in a good place. That was why he was considering something so ridiculous. What good could be done by experimenting on himself? Or any hybrid nearby? All that would come of it would be pain and dead ends.
At least, that was what he'd been taught.
But what if it actually worked? Sure, it was probably rude to kidnap and experiment on your neighbours. But maybe he could take someone who didn't know who he was? That would make it hurt less on both sides. Sparrow couldn't imagine experimenting on the hybrids he knew. Seeing Sausage or Scott in a cage, the colour drained from them, their usually upbeat and chaotic energies dampened by fatigue or whatever things he'd done to them would be horrible.
Even if Sausage had done a lot of bad stuff, Scott was a bit of a nuisance from time to time.
The nicer hybrids he knew would be destroyed. A husk of their former selves. Lifeless.
The thought made him shiver.
Sparrow approached a tree. He'd heard of hybrids with the ability to fly in the past. Maybe he could trigger a reaction by jumping from a tree, or trying to mimic bird behaviours?
Before he could process it, he was already halfway up the tree. He kept going. Sparrow reached the top of the tree. Falling from this height would likely break a limb. Or, in a truly severe case, maybe even kill him if he was careless. The tree was much taller than he had thought.
Without a second thought, Sparrow jumped.
---
Scott had been searching for hours.
His stomach ached painfully. He'd been eating soup and cabbage rolls as his usual diet, but the Nether seemed to make his stomach crave something else. Sure the food replenished his hunger, but it wasn't satisfactory.
By complete accident he had stumbled across an abandoned city. The streets were empty, entirely empty. Empty enough to send shivers sprinting down Scott's spine until he was shivering.
There was something unsettling about the city.
In the Overworld, most villages were teeming with life. They'd have villagers wandering around, joyfully selling their wares in exchange for emeralds. Iron golems would roam freely. The occasional cat would dart around and, if you were lucky, would nuzzle your leg and let you pet them.
But in the Nether this was not the case.
He couldn't do it. Couldn't stay here. Scott had been in a couple houses and taken some dressers, but the air was too stuffy. He couldn't breathe. Everything was so similar but so different at the same time. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was back home in his bed dreaming.
But no. Scott was stuck in the Nether.
In the distance was a nether fortress.
---
Sparrow almost felt like he was flying.
Wind whipped against his body as he fell. He let out a cry of joy, delighting in the breeze that tickled him gently. The sky embraced him. If he shut his eyes, he could picture himself flying across the sky as the sun set. Warm colours of gold and rosy pinks mingling with the pale cotton clouds.
A content smile curled at his lips.
He spread his arms out wide.
The ground drew nearer and nearer.
He didn't see it. Why would he? With his eyes shut, he could be anywhere doing anything. Why would he confine himself to reality when his imagination was there for him? Sparrow would never have to be a regular human again. He could be anything he wanted with his eyes shut.
And shut they remained.
The ground got closer and closer.
Closer.
The wind finally ceased.
Sparrow's eyes opened.
The ground was there waiting for him.
He screamed. He screamed and screamed because he knew this landing was going to hurt. He screamed because he was an idiot for believing this would work. He screamed because there was nothing else he could do.
He hit the ground.
---
Scott finally got what he came for in the first place.
But the problem he was facing was finding obsidian. Because the nether fortress was huge, and there was almost no way he'd be able to cover every inch of the place alone.
Especially with mobs attacking him.
Eating another cabbage roll, he assembled his thoughts. There wasn't much more he could do other than keep looking. Staying in the Nether was certainly not an option. Scott would rather die than spend another minute here.
If he was really unlucky, that could be arranged for him.
Scott stumbled over his own feet as he ran. He hadn't been hit yet, and he didn't want to let the mobs get a chance to.
Chests were everywhere and contained all sorts of things. Still not enough obsidian. At best he'd managed to find four pieces, but that wasn't enough for a full portal.
He cursed as an arrow narrowly missed him.
Sprinting, he wasted no time in making his escape. The chests could wait until he wasn't in danger.
---
Groaning, Sparrow tried to sit up.
His legs shrieked in protest.
Oh well. That's what he gets for being so reckless.
Sparrow grabs some food and eats it. Feeling slightly better, he surveyed his situation. Broken legs, definite pain in his arms and some minor pain in his back. His neck ached, but his head was mostly okay.
This was the price he'd pay. So he wouldn't complain.
Perhaps he'd just have to try other methods.
A syringe would work, right?
---
Scott finally got his hands on the last bits of obsidian he needed to get home.
With intense eagerness, Scott placed the obsidian down in the formation and lit his flint and steel. There was a whoosh sound, and then the portal had been ignited.
As a goodbye, Scott nodded his head and leapt through the portal.
He felt the familiar nauseating feeling of going through the portal to and out of the Nether. Then, he was back on the Overworld. Back with the sun and grass and water. Back with his house, farms and friends.
Scott didn't have the neergy to go to his bed to sleep.
Curling up on the ground, he allowed himself some rest.
Teleporting into walls didn't really phase him much.
The crippling fear was dead and buried along with the many other hatchets lying six feet under. He no longer was sent into a frenzy when he made a mistake. The walls welcomed him with a suffocating embrace. They gripped him tight and squeezed the air out of his lungs with little to no remorse.
It didn't mean it didn't shock him, though.
Accidentally teleporting into a wall wasn't pleasant. It slammed into him like a bucket of icy water he hadn't been prepared for. But it didn't frighten him. More like a minor inconvenience.
Scott's body tingled as he teleported out from the mound of dirt and grass he'd unintentionally managed to teleport into. He was lucky he wasn't claustrophobic. Being trapped inside the dirt and grass wasn't nice. It was as if he'd been buried alive and couldn't escape. Like no matter how much dirt he clawed his way through, there was always more to get through. He'd never be able to get out. It was just an endless purgatory he could never flee from. The weight of the dirt would crush him.
His knees buckled and he collapsed.
Shaking, Scott tried to stand. His legs seemed uncooperative and refused to hold his weight. Many times he fell to the ground. Many strings of curses passed over his lips and swirled on the breeze.
Eventually he succeeded in standing.
Slowly, he approached his house. The path of grass and dirt underneath his feet served as a reminder. Dirt clung to his clothes. The ground's grubby fingers grabbed at his feet repeatedly. Scott did his best to ignore it. He kept walking, drawing nearer and nearer to the door.
He made it inside.
---
Jimmy still felt himself falling.
It was just meant to have been some friendly revenge. Nothing more.
It wasn't meant to end in him plummeting to his death.
He should have been more careful. He should have watched where he was stepping. He should have been able to make it out unscathed rather than dying.
He was a world class idiot.
Panic had overtaken him. His senses screamed at him to do something over then just freeze. To run. To try and find something in the walls to hold onto. To move in any way possible that meant he might be able to live.
At least he didn't have to feel much more than his body falling.
He died soon after he touched the ground.
But he hadn't been respawned yet. For now, he was floating in some kind of limbo that he couldn't escape from. Just existing. No point or purpose other than to exist. That was all he could do for now. Exist and wait for himself to be reborn as something new.
Maybe the world would be cruel and give him wings or immunity to fall damage.
Or maybe it would make him even more vulnerable to it.
Fate was fickle, but fate was also cruel.
---
Martyn would kill for his colin-y.
The snowy and semi-friendly creepers in boats in his house. He'd slaughter every single person on sight if someone even petted one of them wrong.
And currently, surrounded by their soft snowy coats, their warm eyes and their curled horns, he couldn't be happier.
He could lose them. All of them. The reality of it would never escape him. If one player saw the colin-y and got spooked and attacked when he wasn't around, then they'd be gone. Permanently.
At the thought, he approached Colin E and hugged the snowy creeper tight.
Martyn couldn't afford to lose them.
Any of them.
He hummed quietly, a song he'd heard in passing. He hadn't paid much mind to it before, so many parts of the song were lost, but he recalled the main bits of it. It was far from complete, but it was still a song.
Colin E made a small noise as if joining in with the song.
Smiling foolishly, Martyn's humming crescendoed. Other Colins joined in. He'd made himself a choir of creepers.
He pushed the thoughts of losing them out of his mind.
Martyn was content to be in the moment with them.
Sparrow hadn't been anticipating that his first encounter with that strange man would go like this. To be fair though, it would only have been a matter of time before he was spotted watching him from afar. He probably should've planned a better excuse.
"Argh!" Sparrow shrieked in surprise as the strange man appeared in front of him. Was that his ability? Teleportation? Sparrow scrambled backwards in shock.
"It's rather rude to spy on people," the strange man stated, fluffy cyan hair falling over his eyes. The strange man moved the strands so they didn't block his vision. "Now who might you be, weird person stalking me?"
He faltered in his answer. "Sp-Sparrow," he replied, stuttering madly. "My name's Sparrow. A-a-and you?"
"Scott S. Major!" The man said with a grin. "But you can call me Scott instead."
Sparrow squinted at the rings of energy around Scott's arms. The rings pulsed and glowed faintly with their respective blue and orange lights. What did they feel like? Soft? Hard? Rough? Did they feel like nothing at all? Or maybe water? Sparrow reached his hand out and, before he could even tell what he was doing, gently touched the rings.
There was an instant reaction in Scott. He smiled, pupils dilating like a cat. A low hum escaped his lips. The rings glowed a tad brighter.
Not long after, Sparrow saw a tiny beam of orange particles shoot out from Scott and connect the two of them. The particles dissipated almost immediately.
"What did you do?" he muttered quietly. Sparrow carefully retracted his hand. Some hybrids were dangerous. He couldn't just assume that Scott would be one of the pacifists when so many hybrids caused harm.
"This!" Scott launched himself into the air. Ten, twenty, thirty feet. And still going. Sparrow watched on, his mind archiving every second so he wouldn't forget. He couldn't.
Then Sparrow felt a tugging in his chest. Like a rope being pulled. His hand rose to tap his chest in curiosity.
Before he could blink, Sparrow was flung into the air. Scott now stood where he had previously. Wind whipped against his body as he fell to the ground. Shrieking, his arms flailed wildly. A myriad of high-pitched screams tore from his lips and rang in his ears. He'd misjudged Scott, and now he was gonna die. He was gonna die. He'd die and it'd be his fault for trusting Scott so easily. This wasn't how he wanted to go! Not falling from a height because he hadn't been on his guard.
Sparrow squeezed his eyes shut tight.
He landed.
He...wasn't dead?
Slowly, Sparrow's eyes fluttered open. Scott grinned at him. He looked down and saw that Scott had caught him.
Oh.
Sparrow sprung out of Scott's arms in a frenzy.
"Why would you do that? I could've died!" Sparrow screamed. Scott laughed, a mellifluous and whimsy sound. He kept laughing, tears pricking his eyes and clutching his stomach. Scott's shoulders shuddered with heavy full-body laughter.
"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't r-resist! It's to-too easy!" Scott eventually took several deep breaths, and wiped the tears from his eyes.
Sparrow huffed and folded his arms. "That was rude, y'know."
"How 'bout I make it up to ya then? I can grab some food and we can talk." At the suggestion, Sparrow smiled. This could be his opportunity to interview a hybrid! He could learn how Scott got his powers, how they impacted his lifestyle, and more!
"I'd say it's a deal." Sparrow's wrist was grabbed by Scott, and a ring of orange and blue particles floated around them. The world fell dark, and a brief bout of nausea decided to strike, but when everything was visible again he relaxed.
"Come on in," Scott said, opening the door to his home. "I'll get the cabbage rolls out."
Scott felt tremors in his body. Particles flitted around him like tiny fireflies at night, their tiny lights cast onto his body. The rings of energy on his arms emitted a low hum that filled the silence.
He took a deep breath.
The particles exploded around him, a swirling vortex of blue and orange. Scott's body slowly dissipated, breaking apart into a flurry of the particles that always clung to him. It was never a painful sensation, only slightly tingly. Sometimes there'd be an ache that spread through his limbs, but mostly it was okay. Probably would just take some...getting used to.
He reappeared back at home. From where he stood, Scott could faintly see some of the crops in his farm were nearly fully grown, and a content smile curled at his lips. Like the others, he was starting with nothing and building up from there.
Someone ran towards him. A familiar someone. Someone dressed in a thick and warm blue coat with a fur-lined hood. Someone with blond hair and bright cornflower blue eyes. A grin curled at their lips as they approached.
"Scott!"
"Hi Martyn," Scott replied. "How are you?"
"Good, good." A pregnant pause settled over the two of them.
"Wanna help me farm? I could do with an extra pair of hands." Scott gestured at the farm loosely, mostly focused on Martyn's expression.
"Sure! Happy to help."
The two of them jumped over the (admittedly quite low) fence surrounding the farm. Hefting a hoe over his shoulders, Scott strode towards the cabbages and started from there. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Martyn over near the tomatoes.
As crops were harvested and seeds were planted, Scott's eyes kept drifting over to Martyn. Something about him felt familiar.
Scott resurfaced, water beaded across his skin. His clothes were soaked, his hair too, but he couldn't bring it in himself to care. A man sat on the edge of an island, legs dangling over the edge and kicking rhythmically in the water. Scott swam over, his gills fanning out and tail swishing in mischievous mirth as he wrapped his hand around the man's ankle and yanked him into the water.
"Scott!" The man spluttered, coughing up water. Scott grinned in response and wrapped his arms around the man with an airy laugh.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," He looked up at the man's eyes. His reflection stared back. Scott's hand cupped the man's cheek. Both struggled to remain afloat; their legs kicked relentlessly, but got tangled together too often for both to continue to stay above the water's surface.
Scott swam over to the island and clambered back onto solid ground, the man in tow behind him. When both were on the island, Scott's arms were wrapped around his neck, the man's wrapped around his waist. The two let out a satisfied sigh. After a few moments, their lips pressed together for a second, and parted as soon as they'd come together.
Scott swung his hoe again. It swept the cabbages up quickly, and he scooped them up from the ground and into his inventory. Hastily replanting the seeds, he glanced over at Martyn. He seemed done with the tomatoes, and was already halfway through the potatoes. Scott went to join him.
"You okay? You seem tired." Martyn said, ever observant.
"I'm fine. Besides it's not nighttime yet."
"Did you sleep?" Scott nodded. "Okay. Good. Well, maybe we could take a break. I've not been inside your house yet. Maybe you can give me a tour?"
"Okay. Follow me." Scott put the hoe back in his inventory. The two of them jumped back over the fence and walked around to Scott's door.
Their footsteps came to a halt simultaneously. Scott's hand pushed the door open, and they both stepped inside.
"So...nice house," Martyn remarked within seconds. "It looks nice."
Scott hummed in response. "Thanks."
He took another look at Martyn. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't quite place it yet. It was like the feeling he often got with Jimmy, only he'd think about hobbit houses, flower crowns and a pufferfish with a misspelt name.
Martyn was like the sea air, coral and loyalty. Like warmth, protection and joy. But that couldn't be true. The Martyn Scott knew was cold, but jovial. He froze, not warmed. He didn't supply comfort on a lonely night riddled with nightmares of explosions, arrows piercing his body or lightning ripping through him. He was the mountains surrounding his kingdom, the ice he could control and rip through houses with. Martyn wasn't the kindness of a flower field or the brightness of a town bursting with cuddly llamas and colours. He was the snow you made snowmen with, the snowstorms you hid from in your home with a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.
Scott was shaken from his thoughts as Martyn handed him cooked pork and sat with him to eat. He smiled, taking a bite into the food and smiling at the warmth filling his mouth. Martyn, freezer, bringer of the cold and a being of ice, had been able to bring Scott warmth indirectly.
Martyn laughed at nothing in particular. Scott laughed with him.
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.
The child just wouldn't sleep.
Scott had awoken from his slumber for the umpteenth time that night to the sound of a wailing goblin baby. He threw the covers back and his feet slipped onto the cold floor of his manor. Shuffling forwards, he reached for his trusty jacket hung up nearby and his signature fedora. Now he was dressed (well enough), Scott left the confines of his room.
He had given the kid its own room. The point of this was to have it be somewhere else so he wouldn't have to hear it screaming constantly. But that plan had flopped almost immediately. Now pretty much the entirety of Chromia could hear the small goblin child cry out in the midst of the night.
Scott was not parenting material.
Why couldn't fWhip deal with his own population burst? Scott found himself cursing Goblands under his breath as he gently nudged open the door to the child's room.
The goblin child had its arms and legs waving in the air, kicking and reaching out for hands that would never hold them. Its ears were tilted downwards as opposed to the usual upward point of most goblin ears.
He drowsily approached the child's crib and picked up the baby. How was he meant to hold a baby again? Scott had been to many places in the past and stayed with many people. At least one time he had lived temporarily with newly-made parents and a young baby. He barely recalled the way that both parents had cradled their baby and rocked it back and forth.
Maybe he could try that?
Scott gingerly shifted the baby's position in his arms to something reminiscent of what he had seen during his days of travelling. The baby's wails were still ear-splittingly loud, but slightly more bearable. He rocked the baby back and forth gently. What else had those parents done when he lived with them? Sing it a lullaby?
Oh. Oh they did do that.
Scott's dignity was going to die tonight, wasn't it?
Hesitant, Scott began to mumble a lullaby under his breath. It was one he somewhat remembered. One from his childhood. He couldn't recall who exactly it had been to sing it to him, but the voice sang alongside his own as he repeated it to this child.
At least the child's screaming was quieter. Now instead of screaming and crying at the top of their lungs, the goblin child babbled faintly. They made grabby hands and poked Scott's cheeks as he sang. Resisting the urge to pull away, he kept singing.
It took him a moment to realise the child had stopped screaming.
The child had nuzzled their head into Scott's chest and was babbling jovially. Eventually the young goblin's head dipped down further as slumber finally overtook them.
He did it. Scott got the child to sleep.
With a silent cheer, Scott placed the goblin child back in its crib. The child's breath hitched from the sudden loss of warmth. Its tiny green body shivered.
Scott sighed in defeat as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around the goblin child. Was the term swaddled?
If he had ever thought of handing the goblin child off to his people, he certainly wouldn't be able to go through with it. The child's hands gripped his jacket tightly and its ears were finally tilted up in the usual sign of contentment. Even more, the goblin child almost seemed similar to Scott, despite the difference in species. The goblin baby's eyes had taken on a mild teal hue, with one eye ever so slightly yellow around its pupils.
Damn it. This was his kid now, wasn't it?
Scott never thought he could be a parent. The option was never really available. Not when he was constantly on the move. Constantly running, whether it be from the consequences of his actions or even the law. Back then, he only ever wanted to travel and 'collect' things from everywhere.
Love never crossed his mind. Mainly because he knew he'd screw up. Betray them, cheat on them, steal from or scam them, run out on them in the dead of night. Or he would abandon them at the smallest hint of misfortune. There had been many instances from the past when Scott had left behind a multitude of lovers because of his desire for adventure and his cowardice.
Children were new to him. The prospect of now having a child to raise, on his own no less, was alien to him. He had always turned away at the prospect of kids. The best he could do was tell tales of his adventures to the children of whichever village or town he resided in.
The child's eyes fluttered open for a milisecond, and they smiled at him with a naivety and joyful innocence only a kid could have.
Scott hesitated. Then before he could second-guess himself, he pressed a small kiss to the goblin child's forehead.
He wanted to leave the room. To go back to bed.
But just in case the child woke up again, Scott wanted to be nearby.
So he slept on the floor. For the sake of his child. Not because he wanted to ensure it was safe throughout the night.
Scott got comfy on the cold floor and removed his fedora, clutching it tight against his chest.
He would figure out the whole parenting thing eventually.
He still hadn't given the child a name, had he?
What if Milo and Scott were engaged, but never managed to get married?
What if the two were about to get married in a few days? A few weeks?
To me, the idea makes Milo's death kinda sad. He died before he and Scott could get married. He died before he could see the man he loved walking down the aisle (or the other way around? not sure). Before they could get married. Before he could stop calling Scott boyfriend or fiance and finally call him husband.
That gives Scott a lot more incentive. He wants to get his happily ever after. His dream wedding with the man he loved. He even built their dream house! Scott is a grieving man trying to bring back his dead lover, but fiance makes it worse.
Because if Scott succeeded, he could finally marry his lover. Or it could backfire. Milo sees what his fiance became, and breaks it off as a result. Scott won for nothing. He did everything for nothing.
The home he built, the one he and Milo had dreamed of having whilst Milo was alive, would only then serve as a reminder of what Scott could've had. Of how Scott had become a monster.
Thanks! Have a great day/night!
Bertha couldn't quite place something about Scott. Something seemed...different, about him. They watched him take out a demon with complete ease, unlike Pris or Tiff. Scott also mentioned that he'd fought several demons before.
Which made sense, really. But the 'demon thing' wasn't what had puzzled Bertha.
No. It was something else.
They'd taken note of all the subtle differences of the Necromantic Witch. The first thing was how sickly Scott appeared. His skin was incredibly pale with an almost green tint in some places, cold and lifeless flesh clinging to his bones. If Scott was put next to a corpse dressed like him, Bertha knew they'd struggle telling the two of them apart. Scott looked as if he were an inch from death; like an old man waiting for death to knock on his door and take him away.
The second thing was the exposed rib. Scott's clothes had torn ever so slightly, but enough to reveal one of Scott's ribs. That was concerning. The skin surrounding that rib was so pale that Bertha could see every small detail of that rib. No one was meant to have skin that thin unless they were a heavily-decomposed zombie or a skeleton with a thin layer of skin clinging to it like a lifeline.
The last thing, not quite visible, was just Scott in general. He just seemed off. Sinister and malevolent even when they were talking calmly with each other. It was an unrelenting aura of malice that descended upon all in his general vicinity.
So Bertha decided to do some friendly snooping. Because, if they wanted to bring back their sister to undo the curse, they had to ensure that none of the witches were catching on. Or getting to a point where they'd be too powerful for Bertha to take down, even once they got the curse lifted.
Scott ran around the summoning circle outside his house, drawing lines of chalk on the ground. Bertha hid in a nearby tree, careful not to touch any of the leaves. The leaves that, somehow, were still attached to the trees despite being almost certainly dead.
"Come on, come on..." Scott muttered. Bertha noticed the salt on the ground, and how Scott was avoiding it like the plague. Leaning forward, they held their breath. What would happen if they dropped salt onto Scott?
"Careful...careful..." They whispered to themself, rummaging through their pockets. Once they found the salt, Bertha slowly began to tip it down. The salt landed on Scott's shoulder with a sizzle.
"Crap!" Scott cursed, clutching his shoulder. Letting out a cry of agony, the Necromantic Witch sunk to their knees. Demonic growls and whimpers escaped Scott's mouth. Thick and sticky black blood stained the necromancer's hand. The skin around his shoulder bubbled, the flesh blackened and sickeningly inhuman. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" The demonic voice cried out. Scott tried to stand and failed. His head whipped around, glowing green eyes looking for the source of the salt.
Bertha swiftly retreated away. Hopping from tree to tree, they mentally stored the information they'd gathered in their brain for later.
Now they knew what was up with Scott. At least, now they had their suspicions.
Scott was a Lich.
And now Bertha knew, maybe there was a chance that they could gain some leverage here...
The words took a moment to set in.
Martyn was 25 minutes away from becoming a Red. He was about to become bloodthirsty. Murderous. Hungry for death, no matter who it was that perished. Martyn would crave whatever blood he could get on his hands.
Scott felt a shiver run up his spine. A jolt of fear. His body shook. His fellow Mean Gill, his ally, his best friend, his lover-
What?
No, they weren't like that. Scott and Martyn weren't like that.
He looked up at Martyn, his friend swinging his pickaxe down on stone. Sweat beading down his skin. Scott was not staring. But he couldn't help it. Martyn would become a Red soon.
"Martyn," Scott said his friend's name with as much courage as he was able to muster. "Look at me." Martyn stopped, dropping his pickaxe. The stone he'd just mined lay on the floor. Martyn approached him slowly. Scott could already see the slightest of red in his friend's eyes. The beginning of bloodlust was already there.
"What is it?" Martyn was very close now. The two were practically pressed up against each other. Martyn's hands were on both of Scott's shoulders.
"I-I-" Scott swallowed nervously.
There was something he wanted to say. So many things. So many confessions that it would probably take the rest of his time to admit to them all.
"Take your time," Martyn's voice was smooth and comforting, in an almost loving gentleness. A kind of gentleness Scott had only felt last around Jimmy in Third Life, or his platonic not-soulmate Cleo in Double Life. "We have plenty of it."
"That's the thing," Scott answered quickly. His body shuddered involuntarily. The words were on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't like there were many to speak. Quite the contrary. If anything those words were too few to properly express what he wanted to say. But those were the words he had to say. "Martyn, I want you to trust me here. Okay? Trust me. And I need you to listen. Don't immediately shoot it down."
"Okay..."
"Kill me."
"What." Martyn's eyes were blown wide. His lips were parted in an 'o' and his body twitched. Another sign of being Red; you couldn't stand still withoout wanting to kill.
"I want you. To kill me."
"N-no, I-I get that. But why?"
"Because! You're almost Red, Martyn! And after that, then what? Time will tick. And next time you won't come back. Next time you'll be dead. I can't live without you. I need you here. You cannot die. And if that means I lose half an hour then that's fine." Scott had already reached into his inventory to grab a sword. It wasn't his go-to sword for this, but it would do. Tears bubbled in his eyes. His scales itched and the coral on his body rubbed against his skin harshly.
"Scott, I-" Martyn took a deep breath. "I don't want to kill you. Not again. We already had to do this when you were on green. I can't kill you a second time."
"Martyn, please. Just do it!" Scott felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he thrust the sword into Martyn's hands. He threw his arms wide and waited. He could tell his friend was tempted. The premature desire to kill was there. Scott was just hoping Martyn would listen to it and take the extra time. Martyn needed it more.
Martyn stared down at the sword. Scott tried to smile through his tears as best he could. Martyn's lip trembled and tears pricked his eyes, too. Now they were both crying, but for different reasons.
Red Winter was back. Martyn could only think of him killing Ren. His king. And him killing Scott during the Hunt. Neither of his memories were very highly treasured for being wonderful. Those were probably the worst experiences of his life. Because Boogeyman kills were one thing. So were Red kills. Or even Yellow kills.
Killing one you cared for, per their request, was something very different.
"I can't do it," Martyn admitted. "Scott, I can't do it!" He dropped the sword, ignoring the clatter it made as it hit the floor. Martyn fought against the bubbling bloodthirst. He wasn't Red yet. He could restrain himself.
"Just do it. Take a half-hour."
"No. I won't." And Martyn wrapped his arms around Scott. Scott buried his face in the crook of Martyn's neck, and Martyn rested his chin on Scott's shoulder. Tears stained their clothes.
And so did blood.
Scott looked down.
The sword had been plunged into his chest.
Martyn's sword.
"Thank you." Scott smiled, and pressed a kiss against Martyn's neck.
His heart stopped beating.
Martyn's body shuddered, and he fell to his knees, crying harder than before.
He had to stop getting into these situations.
Scott blinked back at the tears. He couldn't risk it now. He was meant to be one of the strongest witches in the competition! The Necromantic Witch! Every one of his competitors either feared him, was stupid enough to make him an enemy, or was an ally. Most feared him. He had taglocks of everyone. Nobody was safe from a curse. Not even Bertha, the...weird being that Scott didn't quite understand.
Case in point, Scott was meant to be powerful. Crying was a sign of weakness. He couldn't afford to be weak.
That wouldn't bring Milo back.
So he wiped his eyes and continued on. He flicked through the Book of Shadows, analysing every word of every line until he understood the ritual perfectly and could do it blindfolded. The chalk on the ground was right. He had the right ingredients. He even had a sacrifice like the book said!
Taking a deep breath, Scott began the ritual.
---
None of the other witches had heard a peep from Scott in a bit. No curses, no pranks, nothing. He hadn't tried scaring Bertha, he wasn't on some sort of journey to collect ingredients or spells. Nobody knew where he was.
Cleo paced back and forth at Spawn. She gesticulated wildly to Bertha as she ranted on end. Scott had said he'd meet her there ages ago. He hadn't turned up.
"What if something bad happened to him? He's my ally! Not to mention he's not...mentally stable," Cleo shook her head. "No I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he's just resting?"
"Scott doesn't have a bed," Bertha helpfully supplied. "He doesn't sleep anymore after Joey and Pris tried getting his taglock."
"Oh. Right." Cleo mentally screamed. She was no closer to discerning where Scott was than before!
"But we could take a look at his base," Bertha suggested, gesturing at the Waystone in the centre of Spawn. "Maybe he's there?" Cleo frowned, but, seeing no other option, complied.
The two stepped up to the Waystone and teleported to Scott's house.
---
Scott's home was silent. Usually there was at least some small semblance of noise. But not anymore. Instead it was just uncomfortably silent. Suffocatingly so.
Bertha cautiously tread on the decayed ground as if it would catch fire at any second. Cleo's brows furrowed. The decay was pretty bad. It stretched incredibly far, almost halfway to the lake. Had Scott's magic caused this?
As the two of them looked around, a chalk circle caught their eyes. In the centre of it stood a figure hidden behind sinister black, gold and crimson robes. A hood was pulled over their head, but Cleo could easily guess that it was Scott. By the look of it, he was performing some kind of ritual.
"Scott?" She said, slowly approaching the chalk circle. In between the red and purple chalk were thin lines of salt. Odd. Scott stood, unmoving and unattentive. There was a swirl of shadows and darkness at his feet, growing and growing. Shadowy tendrils shot out of the depths, sapping the life out of the world around it. The decay on the ground groaned and spread, edging closer and closer to the lake.
"Scott." Bertha's voice was loud and firm, unlike what cleo had heard before. It sounded more...ethereal. Less human and more like an entity of some sort. "Stop this." But Scott didn't seem to be listening.
"I'm gonna try something, but I think I'll need your help." Cleo held out her hand to Bertha, and they readily took it.
She drew nearer and nearer to the chalk circle. With a sharp breath, Cleo stepped over the lines of chalk and salt, careful not to accidentally disturb them. Breaking the ritual could have dire consequences. She reached out and took hold of Scott's hand. Bertha gasped and uttered something.
Before she could blink, Cleo was no longer at Scott's house.
---
He was home. Home with Milo and Maxwell. Home with his family. No more disasters. No more magic. No more death. Instead, he was sat at the table with Milo, both of them happily eating and talking. In his mind, it was like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps none of it had been real. Maybe he'd just been living a nightmare and only just woke up to his actual reality.
Whatever the case, Scott had missed this.
"I love you," he blurted out. "I-I really love you."
"I should hope so," Milo replied with a gentle laugh. He took Scott's hand. "After all, we are living together. How would Maxwell cope?"
"Shared custody?" Scott joked. The duo grinned in the way they only did for each other and burst out in pure, unadultered laughter.
He could almost believe it was real.
The main giveaway was the decay on his hands. The blackened skin that flickered in and out of existence. A reminder. In the corner of his eye, Scott could see the outlines of two figures reaching out for him and calling his name. He shook his head. This was his moment. This was his time to lose himself and believe that Milo was still alive.
"Scott!" The voices called out. They were incredibly distinct, and he knew them well. Cleo and Bertha. It could be no one else.
"Sunshine? Are you alright?" Milo asked.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Scott leaned over and kissed Milo on the forehead. "Just...tired, I think."
"Do you wanna go up to bed now? I can clean up." Milo offered with a smile.
"O-ok. Love you." With a quick kiss on the lips, Scott stood up from the table and left.
"Scott, please," Cleo's voice begged. And Scott could see her now. He could see her hand wrapped around his own. "You need to stop. The decay, i-it's spreading. It's hurting you Scott!"
"But-...I'm finally back! With him!" Scott argued. His voice wavered, and tears pricked his eyes. "I-I can finally be happy again! I can live my life here, with him. I've tried to bring him back for so long. Do you know, Cleo? Do you know how long I've tried? Take a guess! Take a guess goddamnit, and tell me how long you think I've tried! Go on! Please!" Scott felt the tears falling down his cheeks. Cleo's hand wiped them away. Bertha stood beside him, their hand resting on his shoulder.
"Neither of us can imagine. But you need to come back. There's another way. Scott, come back." Bertha's eyes glowed with tender sympathy.
"I can't!" Scott pulled away. "I-I can't live without him."
"Yes you can. Please Scott." Cleo wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.
The world around them fell apart.
---
They were back. Back at Scott's house. Only now, the Necromantic Witch was crying, weeping and wailing, clinging onto Cleo and Bertha for support. They feebly clung onto him, rubbing up and down his back and waiting for him to calm down.
Neither had intended to do this. But they did.
"I'm sorry," Scott hiccuped, his eyes puffy and voice hoarse. "I-I didn't mean to-"
"Don't worry about it." Bertha responded. "Besides, if it works, I can find a better way to bring back, uhh..."
"Milo."
"Yes, Milo." Bertha snapped their fingers in remembrance when Scott said the name.
"Sure?"
"Incredibly so."
"Okay." Scott smiled at both of them.
Those few seconds with Milo were worth it. Milo may not like what Scott's become, but that wouldn't stop him.
Nothing would.
Scott hated his scales.
Yes, he was surrounded by the sea. Yes, he lived on an island. Yes he had coral in his hair and clinging to his clothes. And yes, he was part of a duo called Mean Gills. All of those things are very fish related, but that didn't mean he wanted to become a fish!
He couldn't change it now, though. He'd fallen to sixteen hours. He'd become a yellow life.
And for some reason, that meant scales were now appropriate.
Staring at his reflection in the sea, Scott ran his hand through the water to disrupt the offending image shown by the water. Glistening blue scales slowly creeping in on his face. They stayed near his forehead, but also went down the side of his head. Luckily his hair could cover most of them, but he would always see them.
His chest ached for reasons he couldn't explain.
He wanted to go swimming. He yearned to swim. For no apparent reason.
Taking a deep breath, Scott dived underwater.
He remembered dying. He was swimming, swimming as fast as he could, desperate to get away. Jimmy was hot on his trail. If he didn't act fast, Scott knew he would die. So he kept swimming. He swam and swam and swam. His lungs burned. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain. Martyn was close, too. Scott reached out for him, calling out Martyn's name, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Water flew into his lungs. Scott begged Martyn to kill him. He'd watched, helpless, as Martyn and Jimmy fought, shoving, kicking, elbowing each other, all whilst trying to kill him. Scott remembered how both Jimmy and Martyn had called out for him for different reasons. He felt the sword plunge into his heart. He felt it as his time as a green life was gone.
And suddenly Scott was panicking. Flailing in the water, his garbled screams could be heard all the way from the Bad Boys' mansion.
Someone dived into the water. One, no, two people had dived in. Scott couldn't tell who they were. They both looked too similar to each other. Maybe they were just one person. He couldn't tell.
He was being lifted up. Scott let them, no longer screaming in fear. The two people slowly swam up. He was getting closer and closer to breathing properly. Scott didn't even mind the water now. Even though he'd felt nothing but fear moments earlier. God he was a mess right now.
"Scott? Scott! Can you hear me?" He recognised one voice as Martyn's, but it was hard to make out the words. They all seemed to slur and mix, creating a weird linguistic concoction of nonsense.
"Scott, please. L-look at me. I'm sorry. Okay? I-i-if that helps, I'm s-sorry. Just-...please. Look at us, damnit!" Another voice cried out. This one was familiar too, but Scott couldn't place it.
His vision began to clear up.
Standing over him were Martyn and Jimmy.
"Please. Please just...acknowledge you can hear us. I-I need to know if you're alive. Your pulse is weird and-" Martyn's voice got caught in his throat.
Scott groaned. He tried to sit up, but Jimmy's gentle hands guided him back down. "H-hi," Scott offered weakly. Tears bubbled in Jimmy's eyes, and he hugged Scott tightly. Martyn was crying too, but instead was holding Scott's hand, squeezing it every few seconds.
No one moved for a while. Although Scott had recovered now, neither one of the men currently with him moved an inch. He resigned himself to watching the waves lap up at the edges of the Coral Isles. Night had crept up into the sky by now. He could hear the worried shouts of Grian and Joel off in the distance.
Reluctantly, Scott managed to crawl out of Jimmy's vice-like grip and just-...laid there. Not like there was much else to do. When he saw Joel and Grian, he gestured down to Jimmy with a simple thumbs-up directed towards them. The remainder of the Bad Boys visibly relaxed. The two dived into the sea with a faint splash and swam over at a slow pace. Scott knew they weren't slow swimmers. But it was excusable.
Jimmy had fallen asleep. With a nudge, he groggily blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked up at Scott.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out in an instant. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you and- and doing that, but I-I'm scared, I don't wanna die and we don't get a choice and-"
"It's...okay." Scott said in response. He didn't necessarily feel okay, but he could. He could learn to. For now, he'd just pretend.
"Timmy!" Grian clambered onto the island and tackled Jimmy with a hug. Joel followed soon after, slinging his arms around both of their shoulders. "Are you okay? You were gone for ages and we were worried but no death message appeared so-" Grian took a breath. "Sorry. I'm just worked up. Can we go home now?"
"Yeah, I'm exhausted after having to deal with Grian. Don't scare us like that again." Joel said in a playful tone. But it was clear to everyone that it was only there to maintain an act of confidence. In Joel's own, weird way, of course.
Jimmy looked to Scott for permission. He nodded, and Jimmy smiled at the others. As the Bad Boys left the Coral Isles, Jimmy dropped something on the ground.
"Wait, you-" Scott was about to tell him, but Jimmy smiled and shook his head. The Bad Boys disappeared.
Scott knelt down to pick up the item Jimmy dropped.
A poppy.
"You alright?" Martyn glanced up at Scott. He'd almost forgottten about his fellow Mean Gill!
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Is that-"
"Mm-hmm." Scott showed Martyn the poppy. "But, I don't know what it means anymore. So..." Scott walked to the edge of the Coral Isles. Memories flashed up in his mind, memories of him and Jimmy in the first of the Life Games spent together. Each one was closely tied to the poppy and the Pufferish of Peace. But since Jimmy lost the pufferish, Scott was going to lose the poppy.
"Are you sure?" Martyn hurriedly asked.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Scott threw the poppy into the sea.
"My place is with you. Here. On the Coral Isles. Not with him anymore." Scott smiled at Martyn and held out his hand. Martyn took it without hesitation.
It felt nice having a friend.
Instead of bringing back a dead lover, what if it was his child? Perhaps a kid he'd taken in with a past lover of his. A kid that loved storms and wanted to become a sky witch. Maybe Scott would've indulged in the child's ambitions. He would've bought spellbooks, a staff, runes, scrolls, everything. He would have watched the kid practise and maybe he'd offer pointers to help the child improve.
And then one day, a storm comes. Scott's child had summoned a storm successfully. And the two run outside. They're overjoyed and celebrating, jumping in puddles and dancing, not caring if they get muddy or wet. And then while they're celebrating, the kid tries another spell.
But this one goes horribly wrong. The kid tries to summon lightning. Instead of having the lightning bolt strike the ground in front of them, it hits the child and kills it.
After that, Scott works tirelessly to bring back this child.
And maybe Scott's a tad fond of Shelbie because she reminds him of his child. Maybe he's kind to Lauren because she didn't fit in and in his eyes she acted like his kid. Perhaps Eloise is a bit like his kid, too.
Who knows? But this is fun to think about.
The Mean Gills were thriving. Martyn focussed on building his hourglass whilst Scott had built them a house. And now that it was done, and Scott was out gathering materials, he took the time to get used to the storage system. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't make sense of it. Although he did have to admit that the chests were at least somewhat organised. Martyn would never admit that it took him a solid ten minutes to get used to the storage system. In hindsight that didn't seem like a long time, but since everyone had twenty-four hours to live, it was kind of humiliating. It was like having fifty days to live and spending one of them trying to make sense of something simple.
He'd just put some stuff away when he heard it. In the distance, a tad bit muffled, he could hear something. Singing?
"Drown me underwater, watch as I flounder~" the song was low and quiet, but it's hypnotic melody caused Martyn to drop the wood he'd been holding. Curiosity held him in a vice-like grip and it refused to let go. "I'll gasp for air, for your touch, for your lips and your hair~," The song continued, slowly building in volume. The voice singing was clearly used to it, as each note was perfect and rich.
"H-hello? Anyone there?" Martyn called out. Nothing. No response. But the song kept playing upon his ears and his ears alone.
"As you pull me up and kiss me, water fills my lungs, is this something you'd miss?" The voice was closer now. Or maybe Martyn had subconsciously gotten closer to it. But he felt compelled to find the source. He barely even noticed as he gradually lost land to tread on and began to dip his feet into the water...
"Who's there?" He asked aloud. But before he could hear an answer, Martyn realised that he'd fallen into the water. The warm water was comforting. It warmed his bones and enveloped him in its embrace. He didn't want to leave. Even though his clothes were soaked and he'd lost his sandals despite not having moved, even though the water was filling his lungs-
"And when you release me and hold me down, the water floods my body, flowing down, down, down~," He was closer now. Martyn ignored the rational part of his mind telling him to swim back up and abandon his quest. But he was determined. And that voice was far too tantalising to ignore. "Down into my lungs and I forget how to breathe, but I see your smiling face and I forget how to leave, you keep me here~" And so he swam. Martyn swam down further and further. He was close to the coral. In fact, he was just skimming the sand at the seabed. Still no sign of the voice.
Actually, maybe he was wrong. Martyn saw a faint silhouette of someone not too far from him. He swam towards them. His movements were sluggish, and more and more water filled his lungs. If he didn't resurface he would die soon.
But he made it. Somehow Martyn had managed to reach them. A figure with a human body, but fins on their arms and legs and one ginormous one on their back, along with webbed fingers and toes and gills in their neck. The mop of cyan hair was familiar. So were the patches of colourful coral that clung to their skin. The jacket that had been torn and was loosely tied around their waist. Shimmering teal scales decorated the merfolk's body. They glinted like gemstones in the warped light illuminating the sea. The figure continued to sing, and slowly Martyn began to recognise more and more things. The way they sang sounded familiar. So were the figure's gestures. And when they turned around, Martyn recognised them in an instant.
"Scott?" His own voice was garbled, and water flooded in through his mouth. but he couldn't help but ask. Martyn suddenly felt light-headed. The lack of oxygen was finally catching up to him.
---
Martyn woke up later. He was in his bed with Scott kneeling down besides him, fretting over his still but newly conscious body.
"Damnit, damnit, damnit! Goddamnit, Scott, why did you do that? If you hadn't opened your stupid mouth to sing then he'd be fine!" Scott cursed himself. Martyn groaned, and Scott's attention snapped over to him in an instant. "Martyn! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Oh my god I'm so happy you're alright-" Scott cut himself off by tightly hugging Martyn.
"Whoa, whoa, sl-slow down. G-gimme a sec..." Martyn sat up and rubbed the side of his head. Scott had put on some clothes, but now that he'd seen the gills and the fins, Martyn couldn't un-see it.
"I'm so sorry about that. It was dumb and I should've thought and-"
"Calm down, Scott. It's fine," He grunted mildly in pain and coughed. Water flew out and splattered onto his clothes. "Wh-when were you gonna tell me you were a..." He struggled to find the right word.
"Siren? Merfolk? I was going to tell you later today, but I guess you beat me to it. A-and I am really sorry about this."
"Don't worry. And besides," He paused and locked eyes with Scott, taking on a grin. "You have a nice voice. And the fins really suit you."
"O-oh." Scott's face was bright red with embarrassment. "And I'll warn you if I sing again. I don't want you trying to drown yourself a second time around."
"Sounds good to me."