Zombiecleo - Blog Posts
Calm Before The Storm
There were no more Yellows now. Which as a result meant no more mercy, or grace periods. No one would show kindness anymore, not when the entire world was against you. Allies would only be standing in your way. Hindrances to success.
Scott stood at the diving board, staring out upon the server. He could see everyone beginning to head back to their bases clearly. His fingers itched, the way they always did when he was Red, slowly finding his bow and holding it up. An arrow was nocked, aimed and ready for someone's head. He didn't know whose head. It didn't matter in the end. They were all just heads on bodies waiting to be chopped off.
Shaking himself out of it, he lowered his bow and put the arrow back in its quiver.
Gem was sat on the floor with her sword in her lap. A strand of hair fell over her eyes and she hastily brushed it away. She stared at her reflection in the sword, a frown tugging at her lips, tilting it this way and that presumably to find a noticeable change.
Everyone felt different as a Red.
No one knew how. There were no physical differences to before, no changes in demeanour or personality. A player didn't instantly grow cold and calculated with an intense thirst for blood. The bloodlust was always inside of them. It just never arose as a Green or a Yellow. It simmered in their stomachs on a low heat, only to have the temperature rocket up and the pot overflow, teeming with the urge to kill. The need to have blood on your fingers. To feel the weight of a weapon in your hands, or to hold the lever to set off a TNT trap.
Many tried to look for a difference. It was quite common for players unfamiliar with the game to do so. They always believed there to be something wrong with them physically, and resorted to searching for changes in what little time they had on their hands.
They never found anything, sadly, but no one did.
"Gem," Scott began, walking over to her. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, then looked back down at her sword. "Gem." he repeated, firmer. She paid him no mind. Apparently a reflection was more important than her teammate.
Impulse stepped out of his house and sat next to Gem. He stretched his arms and placed his palms in the grass, running his hands through the blades. Like many other players, his hands were riddled with scars, burns, blisters and callouses. "What's up?"
"That's the problem," Scott replied. "Nothing. Nothing is happening."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Impulse asked. "I mean, that means we have time to prepare for an attack, or a trap." He nudged Gem with his arm playfully. "Right Gem?"
She didn't respond.
Scott leaned in a little closer and sighed. Her eyes had glazed over. Again.
"Third time today." he grumbled.
Standing up, Impulse bent down to scoop Gem up into his arms and made a start for the gate. He gestured with his head for Scott to follow, and follow he did. He opened the gate for Impulse, and the two of them descended down the stairs and walked past the Secret Keeper statue. The mere sight of it was enough to send shivers down Scott's spine and make him want to run.
They stopped by Cleo's first. Unsurprisingly, Etho was there too.
"What is it?" Cleo asked. She whispered something in Etho's ear and he nodded, scurrying off quickly.
Once his receding footsteps were out of earshot, Scott answered. "It's happening again. I'm gathering some of the players."
She nodded, gradually understanding. "Alright, just give me a moment to grab my things." she disappeared.
Scott stood there, impatiently tapping his foot until Etho arrived with Grian in tow. Both of them were holding bundles of blankets with some snacks thrown in there for good measure. Grian yawned, attempting to rub his eyes.
Cleo reemerged a short while later with more snacks and some water.
The group left and headed towards Pearl's, where Scott broke off from the group to retrieve an additional guest. Before he could even knock on the door, Martyn was outside with all his stuff, a small smile on his face.
"Cleo messaged me," he explained. Scott walked alongside him back to Pearl's, where everyone was sat waiting. Some of them weren't able to join them, so it wasn't quite as full a group as usual, but it was still something.
He took some of the blankets from Martyn and laid them out on the floor. Everyone else did the same, then sat down.
Gem was the last one to sit. Impulse had to guide her to an available spot and gently lower her until she was perched on the edge. Her eyes were still glazed, but a fraction of light and normalcy was returning to them already.
Scott sat down beside Impulse, with Martyn's head in his lap. He absent-mindedly twirled strands of Martyn's hair whilst humming a small tune. He couldn't recall where he'd heard it; perhaps in passing, in the space between the games, or maybe it had been playing when he was in a different server. It sounded similar to a drinking song, so maybe it had been from Pirates.
"Now what?" Grian asked. He perched himself far from the others, but close enough to Cleo and Etho to reach them in case of an unfortunate event. His gaze was on Gem, his eyes narrowing mildly.
Etho chimed in. "We hang out. Eat. Talk. And we wait for Gem to come back."
Cleo nodded in agreement, a small smile curling at her lips. Her hand met Etho's, and their fingers entwined.
---
It took a while for Gem to come back fully. She'd return in brief fits, then leave soon after. It was like flicking a switch on and off repeatedly, only more stressful and each wait seemed to stretch on for eternity.
But once she started to ground herself, it became easier.
Her thoughts were a swirling mass of death, flashes of red every time she shut her eyes. Something was wrong with her. Something had changed, but what? What had changed so drastically about her?
She looked the same. Felt the same. Even tasted the same, which she tested herself (although maybe she did taste different and simply didn't notice.)
But something about her must have been wrong.
She was wrong. A freak. A creature of her own design or maybe someone else's.
Whenever she came to, she was surrounded by people. Impulse's hand on her knee, fingers tapping along to a rhythm. Scott humming a tune, playing with Martyn's hair, his hums occasionally turning into snippets of song lyrics. Cleo and Etho holding hands and smiling, Etho's head on cleo's shoulder, eyes shut in contentment. Grian watching warily. Pearl next to him with a calming hand on his shoulder.
A pang struck her heart when she came to.
They were all here for her. They'd dropped whatever they were doing, for her.
She was important to them.
Gem fell back again into that whirlpool of thoughts. They swirled viciously in her mind, growling and barking and biting like a pack of rabid wolves. Their fur was the colour of blood, and Their eyes were pools of purple. A strange black liquid oozed from Their fangs and dripped onto the ground. They approached from all sides, closing in slowly, leaving Gem less and less time to escape.
Panic bubbled in her chest and she balled the clumps of her shirt in her hands, trying to remember how to breathe.
"You're okay," Impulse's voice whispered in her mind. Was she? She didn't feel like it. "I've got you."
She almost laughed at the thought. He didn't. Not only because she was here and he was out there but also because no one could ever truly have Gem secure in their company. There was always that thin line, that tightrope of danger she was obliged to walk on. One misstep and she fell back into that world of blood, wolves and that rising sense of fear.
"Gem, we're here for you. Take your time." Cleo.
"You've got this," was a half-hearted encouragement from Martyn. He yelped, grumbled under his breath, then hastily added, "I believe in you!"
A hand gently squeezed her kneecap. She saw it, saw the hand, but not the hand at the same time. It flickered in and out of physicality, not wanting to be there for too long. Then it settled into reality with a firm determination.
Something else appeared, too. A shaky apparition, a figure bathed in sunlight. His wings were folded against his back, his red sweater worn and fraying. There was a scar on his temple, and a bruise on his cheek. A second appeared closer to her, gently illuminated by small floating stars, his pointed ears sharp and alert. Then came another, in a cloak of woven moonlight, a toothy smile revealing her elongated canines.
Then finally came one surrounded by a thick outline of red. There was a pendant around his neck of a hand grasping an hourglass.
They all smiled kindly at her, their faces coming into visibility slowly. Everything unnatural about them faded away until they were simply Grian, Scott, Pearl and Martyn, all still in their respective positions.
"Welcome back," Etho greeted.
Scott exhaled in relief, his hand falling to his side. Martyn frowned at its absence, sitting up properly. His hand crept into Scott's lap and rested on his thigh. A grin curled at Scott's lips.
Gem leaned into Impulse. "I'm tired." she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to raise it much more. Still, her words carried across to the others and a blanket was tossed her way. She caught it easily - surprisingly enough, but that must've been a good thing if her reflexes were already coming back - and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"G'night," Martyn said, letting gravity push him backwards. Scott fell with him, letting out a displeased noise when his back hit the ground. "Let's all have a five minute grace period before killing each other, yeah?"
They all mumbled their assent.
Gem and Impulse lay down, close but not touching. She couldn't touch him just yet; her body still didn't quite feel as it should. But when it did, she'd hug him.
Until then, she'd have to rest.
A Red Life was many things; vicious, unforgiving, spiteful, vengeful.
But they were also kind, gentle and merciful when the time called for it.
Fields of Green, Rivers of Red
Scott nervously tossed and turned in his bed. The duvet felt itchy, too stifling on such a hot night, and too heavy as well. He kicked his legs, curled them up against his chest, then did some strange poses with them. One arm was tucked under his pillow, the other draped across the other side of the bed.
It was one of those nights when he wanted to shed his skin and fly free again. He wanted to tear himself apart, if only so he could feel the blissful emptiness again.
Anything was better than this.
He shivered despite the warmth, and tore back his duvet to go for a midnight stroll.
Silent, he snuck out of his house, past Gem's, and over to the diving board. He considered it, briefly; it was by far the fastest way to get down, but it was one of the louder ways. Could he risk it?
He glanced over his shoulder. There were no lights in Gem or Impulse's houses, which implied they were asleep, but sometimes that wasn't true. There had been instances where he'd been caught by one of them when he thought they would be asleep. This time, though, maybe he'd get away with it.
Scott shuffled towards the edge of the diving board. He felt as if he'd climbed to the top of a mansion and was about to make a risky jump, but it was either take the risk or die.
With infinitely less stakes than that, Scott stepped into the air.
He felt the air whip at his body as he plummeted down. An image in of himself, with gold-tipped snowy owl wings, falling in almost the exact same way, popped into his head. That happened more and more now, as the games progressed.
He collided with the water. He kicked his way to the top and broke the surface, panting heavily. He was soaked to the bone, and as he clawed his way onto dry land, he immediately regretted his decision. The water clinging to his skin, dampening his clothes and dripping from his hair irritated him.
Ah well. It was too late to turn back now.
Scott began to walk to Spawn, nervously eyeing the statue they went to hand in their Secret Tasks. He felt his very essence begin to pulse like a heartbeat, but multiple laid over each other.
The statue seemed to stare into his soul with its eternal judgement.
He sat down next to the button to reroll for a harder task. Scott pulled out his comm and typed out a message. Very few people would still be awake, but if he was lucky, then maybe he could not be alone tonight.
A reply was sent back. He exhaled in relief, eyes scanning the message, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Scott sat back, all tension leaving his body. He stared up at the moon and watched it make its nightly rounds in the sky. If he squinted, he could make out the vague shape of a howling wolf in the shadows cast across the moon, and a he shut his eyes with a small breath.
He opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps, and spotted four figures approaching; two blonds, one ginger, one brunette. Behind them was a white-haired man walking leisurely beside a man with dark brown hair with a coloured streak in it.
"Hey," he said, lamely. Cleo settled in beside him, slinging her arm over his shoulder. He leaned into her. Cleo was a constant that he could count on, across all the games; she was the ally he was guaranteed to have no matter what.
Martyn sat on his other side, Pearl next to him in turn. Grian perched himself in the centre of the structure, and Etho and Joel eventually arrived. They sat down on the floor against the button that signalled failure.
"Couldn't sleep?" Martyn asked. His cheeks coloured a little after he spoke. "Sorry. Stupid question."
Scott's hand reached out to the blond's and took it, squeezing it gently. Martyn looked down at the gesture with a soft smile.
They could all feel the malice radiating from Martyn; it was hypnotic, a blind lust for blood that caused a tingling sensation to spread through their bodies. It was a very familiar feeling, and it was one they did not fight against. Instead, they welcomed it.
After all, they were already awake.
What did it hurt?
"Crazy day today, huh?" Joel remarked. "I mean, my wife died, for one thing. Mumbo died."
"That's just life now, I guess." Pearl replied.
Scott nodded in assent.
Grian smiled. "Well, maybe in another game we can change it up."
Over the course of the night, the group moved in closer together until they were all huddled up shoulder-to-shoulder, laying across each other.
The night went on. The moon made its rounds with indifference to the collection of mortals beneath it.
Eventually even the Winners could not stay awake. They had all seen life, death and betrayal, and had learned to sleep with one eye open. But here, there was no need. Here they were among friends.
They let the night take their waking worries away.
Herons Aren't Lightweights
The Herons base was rowdy at night.
They all gathered together, tankards of beer in hand, drinking like there was no tomorrow. There may as well not have been to them.
Cleo continued brewing up drinks, adding input to the conversations going on around her.
Scott was up on the stage with Christian, asking questions in a hushed tone, yet somehow she could still hear the slur in his voice.
Eloise sat with Water, both singing somewhat poorly to bar songs and the made-up anthem of the Herons. Olive sat beside them, joining in every now and then but mostly just working on tuning their instrument.
Owen sat at one of the tables, head in his hands. He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.
"Guys? I think someone needs to take Owen to bed." Cleo called out.
"Really? Already?" Olive asked. "We've only had...had..." Olive's eyes began to droop. They downed another drink. "We've only had, like, five drinks."
Water shrugged. "I can take him. Be back soon!" Water stood up, staggering a little, then approached Owen. "C'mon, let's go. You've had enough for tonight."
Owen only groaned weakly in protest.
Once Water had carried Owen out of the tavern, Cleo glanced over at Scott. He was still talking to Christian, and was gesticulating madly.
Olive and Eloise seemed distracted enough. They wouldn't mind if the next round of drinks didn't come for a bit.
Cleo carefully walked up to Scott, then paused a little behind him.
"What do I do? I- is there anything I can...do for him? I mean, we've just started talk...talking to each other again!"
Christian merely shrugged in response. "I am not sure. For now, give him some space and a little time. Eventually things between you will get easier."
Scott's ears flushed. "I don't have time to wait that long! What if one of us goes out on an expedition and never comes back? I may never get to see him again in time, and I don't want thing to be tense between us if and when that happens!" His voice rose in pitch and volume.
For a brief second, Eloise and Olive glanced his way. Then the two of them slowly turned back to each other and their drinks.
Cleo set her hand on Scott's shoulder. He spun around and grasped at the handle of his rapier, then let go when he saw it was her. "I think you should sit down now Scott. Give Christian a break."
He nodded meekly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." Scott allowed Cleo to lead him to a seat at a table, then push him into it.
"Is it about Acho?"
Scott hesitated, then nodded. "I just...I just don't know what to do."
"Think about it in the morning. You're not thinking clearly right now. When you're sober, think about it then. For now, you can either keep drinking and drown your sorrows in alcohol, or you can take a rest like Owen. No shame in either option."
"Alcohol. Strong alcohol." He didn't stutter, and his voice was almost completely free of a slurred tone. Almost as if he hadn't had more drinks than most of the other Herons already.
"Sure?"
"Yes. I want you to give me so much alcohol that I can barely move around tomorrow. No, for the rest of the week."
Cleo sighed. It wasn't a good idea, but they were pirates.
Since when was anything they did a 'good idea'?
Olive let out a startled yelp, then a joyful squeal. "Cruppy! Hello!" Cruppy jumped at Olive's heels, rubbing against them and jumping like a puppy would. Olive bent down and stroked Cruppy, to which the crab-puppy-thing eagerly jumped into their lap for stroking convenience.
Smiling at the sight, Eloise was suddenly motivated to sing even louder and more joyfully than before. Olive joined in with equal vigour and Cruppy nestled in their lap peacefully.
Cleo shook her head with a warm grin, then grabbed the next round of drinks.
"To us!" She declared, holding her tankard tight and pushing it high into the air.
"To us!" The others parroted, with varying levels of volume and enthusiasm. Regardless, the sound could be heard well beyond the Herons' base and echoed through the town.
Water returned, arms free of Owen, and shouted, "To us!" at the top of her lungs. A delayed reaction, but a welcome one.
For the rest of the night, they all chanted the same thing over and over, falling asleep in the tavern.
They all regretted it in the morning.
But Herons weren't lightweights, and for some strange reason, they all wished to prove it.
He Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way
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.
The End Has Come
It's all over now.
Scott finally got his happy ending. Shirking his crown, he happily went off with Milo. It worked. The spell worked. Now Scott was able to live out his life with his love. Scott was Milo's moonlight, his little shadow. Losing his magic was a price he was willing to pay if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with Milo. Scott was overjoyed.
Lauren was happy. She made friends! After years of being in the desert, alone, she had people that made her laugh. People that she cared about, and cared about her in return. Lauren liked having friends. It was much better than being alone, that's for sure. But her mind was doubtful. She ran instead of fighting that demon. Would the others forgive her? Lauren wouldn't know.
Pris was going to start her own family in the ocean. Pride welled in her chest as she swam amidst the waves. She could visit her sister. She could live her life. There was no way anyone could ever say she wasn't overjoyed. The water passed over her skin and she relished in the feeling. Pris was happy.
Shelbie was home again. It was awkward, especially after she set off the rain again, but she couldn't complain. Not when she was welcomed with open arms and into a warm hug. She melted into the touch with a smile on her face. Shelbie was grateful.
Eloise had found that crown. Some loser had just left it on the ground! And whilst she didn't know how someone could just leave it there, she didn't question it. Eloise readily picked it up and placed it on her head. She paid no mind to the runes on the ground, nor the circles of chalk. Eloise didn't see the shimmering dark-green glow pass over the crown.
Joey had followed Tiff through that portal. There was nowhere else that she could've gone. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the unsettling crawl of goosebumps on his skin as the portal transported him. He didn't need to return to the mages that tossed him away when his magic was revealed. He didn't need to prove himself to them anymore. Joey just had to find his friend and make sure she was okay.
Tiff couldn't help but grin. This would be a new adventure. A new world. Those voices called to her, beckoning her to come with them, more hypnotic than a siren's song. Tiff wanted to take the plunge. Just like she had done with the competition. Only this time, there was no major incentive to do it. No Mother Nature calling her forth to help protect the plants. Tiff had chosen this.
Cleo marveled at her new body. No more rotted flesh. No more stitches holding her limbs together. No more time spent having to struggle with an undead body she was condemned to be trapped within. Cleo finally had a normal body again. A normal body with a beating heart. With no stitches. With no risk of falling apart if not for her magic keeping her together. Cleo was content.
Bertha had to follow Joey and Tiff. Without them, the two would likely get themselves in trouble within mere minutes. So, albeit somewhat reluctantly, Bertha bade their beloved Mertha goodbye as they ran towards the portal and stepped in. They watched as Mertha's image dissipated slowly. Everything soon was covered in green, green, green. Green everywhere. Just green. Bertha had to help them.
Happy endings never last. Loose strings must always be tied when all is said and done.
The story is not over just yet.
The Clock Is Ticking
The clock is ticking.
Lightning lights up the sky to mark the players that may never come back. They are remembered by the survivors. The threat of death looms over them all.
Eyes are everywhere. Hundreds of eyes crawling over the lands, the mountains, the bridges and the sea. They see it all. They smile and watch in quiet amusement as players perish. Those that watch know that they will succeed. After all, who can defy a game like this, with these rules, with no loopholes? For once, the players must play to perfection. There is no other option.
Bloodlust hit the players. Waves upon waves of the urge to kill. Hands itching for weapons. Bows and crossbows craving an arrow to fire. Blood pulsing through their veins, bubbling under their skin. The newfound reality of permanently dying only provides incentive. No one wants to die just yet.
Alliances fall apart. The so-called "Bad Boys" have been destroyed. Only one of them remains. And now they have joined a new group. So the name Bad Boys is no more than a memory that time has robbed of them.
The end cannot be prevented. No matter how much blood is shed. No matter how hard the players may try. They will die regardless of any efforts to thwart it.
Scott was taken by the sea, now belonging to its domain. The ocean was his and none could take it from him.
Martyn watched the sand of his hourglass. He knew time was running out and he would protect those he cared for until the end.
Grian lost them. Jimmy and Joel were dead. And now they were gone, and he joined the Nosy Neighbours, he couldn't help but curse those that watch for doing this to him.
Cleo feared for her family. She had not only her own time to take care of, but her boys' time too. There was a duty she'd taken up to protect them. And she refused to shirk it now.
TIES had lost Skizz. Now they were just TIE. Deaths were inevitable here, but the loss of their friend hit them. Skizz, who, despite losing over two hours in the first session, despite those that had killed him and despite the revenge that others would've taken, had chosen to instead be kind to the players. He'd made it his duty to complement and assure the others.
The clock was ticking.
For all of them.
Morning Sunshine, Evening Moonlight
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.
the piece i did for the sixth edition of traffic zine @trafficzine !! it was a pleasure to work on this project i love zombiecleo and their silly zombies
Cleo saying she refuses to kill Etho even if it means she'll lose secret life at the beginning of her her episode <<</333
Zombiecleo and etholabs are married in my head
"I'm protecting you"
"I don't think that you are"
What if I killed myself??????
After I made this post, I just had the scenario in mind...
And please read Joel's boxes in his hysteric Voice.
I don't know if anybody already called it out, but every Life series Winners Soulmate (except for Joel (for now)) has also won a season.
Which I know is only a coincidence but still so funny to me.
Life Series Lego Minifigures
Here are some of the various custom Life Series minifigures I've made. I've made some artistic interpretations to them and I think they look really cool. Not everyone is here yet but soon they will be, this is what I have so far.
Group photo of what I have so far.
Team B.E.S.T.
Rancher Duo
BigB, Grian, and Mumbo
Renchanting Duo
Pearlesantmoon and Cleo
Mr. Goodtimeswithscar
Property Police (and the big dogs cause secret life)
Finally, the EVO squad.
It's so good! I just finished reading it a minute ago! I can’t wait to see where the story is going! (8/21/23)
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Hermitcraft SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: GeminiTay & Pearl | PearlescentMoon, GeminiTay & ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), Pearl | PearlescentMoon & ZombieCleo, Natalie Arnold | StressMonster101 & GeminiTay & Katy | FalseSymmetry, GeminiTay & impulseSV & Pearl | Pearlescentmoon, Pearl | PearlescentMoon & Tilly the Dog (Double Life SMP) Characters: Hermitcraft Ensemble, GeminiTay (Video Blogging RPF), Pearl | PearlescentMoon, ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), Xisumavoid (Video Blogging RPF), impulseSV (Video Blogging RPF), Katy | FalseSymmetry, Natalie Arnold | StressMonster101, Rendog (Video Blogging RPF) Additional Tags: Pearl | PearlescentMoon Needs A Hug, Amnesia, She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), Protective GeminiTay, GeminiTay Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), ZombieCleo Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), They all get one!, Traumatized Pearl | PearlescentMoon, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Guilt, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Beta Read - We Live Like Tilly On Red Life Series: Part 4 of How to Untramatise Your MoonChild Summary:
Gem’s brain felt like a piece of short-circuiting redstone, flickering between thoughts rapidly as she tried to process everything Cleo had said.
—
After Pearl runs off Gem is left with the other Hermits to get to the bottom of what happened in Double Life. And then, they have to find Pearl.
Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Girldad
Some Wild Life Fanart of the Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Girldad group! It's one of the only illustrations i have actually finished lol. I might go back and do shutter clean line art
I drew this because I couldn't watch the finale because I started with the bamboozlers today and visited some realtives afterwards but can I just say that
SPOILERS!
Hurray! Joel won!!!
Family for the win!
Take my life seriss cleo design because I didn't have time to draw joel yet
Divorce Quartet in the year of our lord 2025 💍💔
WHY IS ETHO EBENEZER SCROOGE AND WHY DOES IT KIND OF MAKE SENSE
4 beds 4 cuddling
Not my art
kitty cafe cleo! ☕ im a big cafe enjoyer. love to sit down drink some coffee and relax =^.^=
GUYS CLEO NEEDS TO WIN
they are a she/they nonbinary zombie, single mother, and everyone is terrified of her, if that isn’t gender idk what is
there is so much gender in that leotard and you can’t tell me otherwise
ZombieCleo Zine interest check!
Hiya!
I find it tragic that there is no ZombieCleo zine so here we are!
If you find that you, too, are also interested in a zine dedicated to Cleo of the Zombie variety, it would be wonderful if you could please fill this anonymous form out!
Reblogs are greatly appreciated! And if anyone you know might be interested in this, please let them know about it! <3
Please let me know if there are technical issues and I'll fix them o77 and please bear with me I haven't done this before lol!
One year ago was the start of something, something cruel, yet thrilling
One year ago was the start of 3rd life
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This isnt in any way shape or form FINISHED but i had to get something out for the one year milestone
thank you, third life