Chapter Text
It was a little bit of fun between the Reds, Grian thought. ‘Let’s release some Wardens; let’s cause some havoc’, he had said in a small circle of his friends. They’d been playing risky for hours now, chasing others down, blowing up TNT, and setting up traps. It felt like a good luck streak had begun when he planned this with Impulse, Joel, Etho, BDubs, and even Scar, his very soulmate. The very one he felt rekindled to, finally feeling free from the fear that had held him down since the desert. The memories haunt him, don’t mistake him. Even looking at sand makes him feel utterly weak and hopeless like he was being chased by a bad omen. He has seen more sand recently than he has this entire time in this third game. Still, Grian didn’t go far from Scar not because he’d cause their deaths if he were alone, but because of the first game that made them who they were.
It wasn’t as much of a plan, it was more like a ‘let’s do this, it’ll be funny’ idea. They all had gone down to the Deep Dark, scattering and scampering about like headless chickens. Although chickens were smarter than them, Grian had said. Scar had feigned offense, claiming his brain was bigger than the bird-sized ones. The last Grian had seen Scar was talking about Martyn and the anticlimactic chase Scar had gone through. Grian wouldn’t admit that watching him run into a tunnel full of water after Martyn filled him with immediate fear, ready to jump off the pillar and catch up as he thought that Martyn would come up triumphant. The winged man didn’t doubt his soulmate, but he knew how reckless he could be. Then, the message came through; Martyn was shot by Scar .
To say there was a victory once more celebrated by the Reds would be an understatement. But the last he had seen of the Reds was talking about the tunnel out, where the Warden would be dragged up to the surface and wreck the Greens and Yellows with its powerful hits and roars. The half-avian found himself alone with this mission, slapping a nametag on the Warden that was clawing its way out of the ground before he spun around and ran. He was less full of giddiness now, being alone with this self-prescribed quest rather than having his friends and soulmate with him but Grian was known for being stubborn, he wasn’t going to give this up. He was going to wreak havoc.
Perhaps it was him talking, the part of him that was clouded by tactical blueprint plans and thorough investigations, the very part of his personality he hid so he and Scar weren’t facing death’s door the second they agreed to be mischievous together. Or maybe it was the reckless revenge of the title ‘Red Name’ and it was like an infection spreading across these games as once one was a Red Name, suddenly their morals were pushed aside and senseless murder seemed like an entertaining thought. These ideas always spouted into things like this, where Grian didn’t want to simply kill people himself, but cause the people to shake, run, and feel the fear he’s felt for a long time. He knew it wasn’t their fault, it was no one’s fault for these games, no one he could reach anyway. So he’d cause chaos when he was on his last lifeline, looking up at the sky like he was staring down the beings who forced them here. How’s this for a game?
Cautiously, Grian led the warden to the tunnel, watching it limp with heavy weight closer and closer before making a beeline for the tunnel, his heart pounding and he faintly wondered if Scar could feel his synced heart painfully thumping against his chest too. Grian threw himself to the side tunnel beside the watered one, blocking it with the sand he carried ‘to create a monopoly’. In reality, he wanted to harbor the fear it gave and take away the power it had to make him remember.
Yet, he stared at the wall of sand he created, feeling the terror sink into his skin before he rushed up the steps of the tunnel he had created for safety. However, the walls had not kept him as safe as he had hoped as the Warden let out a roar, the echo bouncing off every way, and the blast of it went through the thin walls and threw Grian against the rocky walls. Specks of debris followed from the barrier to his right but he paid it no mind as it held together. He gasped for breath once it had been knocked out of him, trudging forward and up. That hurt way too much. Too much to be able to call it a ‘close call’ without needing to knock on wood. His back hurt, alongside his wings that had been crushed against the wall, feathers frayed, falling, and bent. It’s okay, he told himself, Scar liked to help. Once Grian would return, he’d tell Scar what he accomplished, his soulmate would cheer him on and congratulate him then help him pluck the imperfect feathers out of his wings. For a moment, it seemed reachable, it seemed like he could just barely hear the ghost of Scar’s contagious laugh and feel the ghost of his hands ever so carefully taking out the bent feathers from his torn-up wings.
There was another sonically charged roar that blew through the walls and Grian felt the force of it once again shove him into the wall and his legs gave out, his body hitting the ground. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad, being limp against the floor, if the rocks hadn’t been broken from the wall upon the charged scream, following Grian as the debris crushed parts of his body and trapped him beneath the rubble. He let himself lay there in an attempt to catch his breath before trying to lift himself, the adrenaline making him feel as though it were small rocks on top of him. He groaned, huffed, and whined with effort but he couldn’t move one inch. He was pinned against the ground with the passing sound of the Warden in the watered tunnel.
Panic began to settle in as the pain followed soon after. His wings were broken and parts of his limbs felt numb from being crushed and in the same condition as his wings. The man’s breath was quick, hyperventilating as he gave his body a push over and over. The pain across his body waved on, spreading each time he moved. He couldn’t do this on his own, he thought, he needed someone to help, tear the rocks off his body, and carry him away. What a terrible time to be alone.
He remembered Scar. He remembered the soulmate value of this game and he felt himself go slack on the ground with defeat. Scar was most likely feeling this too, he realized, and the more he pushed himself, the more pain he’d cause Scar and Grian couldn’t bear the very thought. So the man lay there, taking shaking deep breaths to calm himself. He knew he was going to die here, there was no way he wasn’t. Most of his body was shattered, irreversibly fixable, and the way he felt his heart beat slower and slower with each passing second was almost making this fact obvious.
Grian was dying and caused Scar’s death as well. Again . He lay there, remembering everything from the good and the bad; recalling ghosts of the desert demanding a death as Scar and Grian stood on that sandy hill, staring at each other as they took off their armor and threw away their weapons. He remembered the rage he felt when Scar had betrayed him, but when he had watched the same man kill BDubs, the tip of Grian’s sword meeting just barely against Scar, the man simply smiled at him as he didn’t fight back. His burnt, scarred arms lifted in surrender.
“You can kill me,” Scar said like he was asking Grian if he’d like tea, “for…for everything you did to me to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.”
Those words still echo in his ears sometimes, even when Scar was around and held that same simple smile. Even when the man was standing next to him, holding out a flint and steel as they watched trees and bases burn. “You can kill me.”
Grian couldn’t but the ghosts wanted a winner.
Grian remembers Scar barely putting in the effort to punch hard or at all and the winged man had never asked why . Why did Scar let him win?
Grian choked out a laugh, feeling hot tears stream down his face. It was never about the enchanter , he thought, Scar was so dumb. Although maybe he was the smart one this whole time since Grian had forbidden him from going to the Deep Dark to avoid dying there and now who was dying in the cave, causing their demise? Grian was .
The dirty blonde then realizes he has never apologized. He never said ‘sorry’ for killing Scar, for distancing himself from him, for belittling him every chance he got. Grian never explained himself, never told Scar that he was so afraid of being close to him and it happening again. He didn’t have the strength to tell his soulmate and watch his reaction. Yet, what was worse? Apologizing and watching as the man he adored turned to hate him or never giving Scar an explanation or an apology?
Grian sobbed, his ribs and lungs burning under the rubble and even though he cried, his heartbeats grew in the distance like the one Grian tried so desperately hard to create against Scar. He was sorry. He was so very sorry.
Grian hoped, as his final thoughts and vision blurred, that he’d be able to tell Scar that. His face rested against the cold hard ground as he distantly made out the muffled music of ‘Chirp’ before all fell silent, dark, and cold.