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Scar woke up to the worst pain he’d felt in months, a blinding ache emanating from his abdomen, so demanding and sharp that it almost froze him upright in bed. He felt his vigour for the day drain from him as he realised with horror what that feeling was: hunger. Inhuman hunger. It seemed he’d been wrong to assume that his vex instincts would have been numbed by the code – looking back, of course they wouldn’t have. Grian didn’t know Scar was a vex hybrid; he couldn’t have magically overwritten that part of Scar. Still, it left a bitter taste in Scar’s mouth that only highlighted how dry he suddenly felt. Weeks of camping out in the desert didn’t compare remotely to this; he felt unbearably parched, as if he had neither drunk nor eaten anything in weeks. It was deceptive, he knew it, it was his nature trying to get him to surrender and shape him up for slaughter, but Scar tossed it aside.
He raised himself from the bed, making his way down the stairs of the desert castle to go out and rummage through his and Grian’s haphazard chests. Wordlessly he flicked through each one, snapping it shut every time he hit a dead end. Not a shred of raw meat in any of them. They were even empty of any cooked meat. He felt the tendrils of that all-consuming hunger curling in his stomach and clenched his fists, closing the final chest and feeling as if he were sinking in the sand. Scar’s legs felt like they had been turned to lead, but he forced himself to wander around the desert until something came to him.
A glimpse of a rabbit in his periphery alerted him, and he halted with predatorial precision, all of his muscles tensed as it slowly hopped closer, oblivious. All at once, Scar dropped to his knees, his now-elongated claws piercing the rabbit’s hide with a cruel efficiency that enveloped him as the rabbit easily went limp in his hands. A sliver of guilt crawled into him as he sat there, rivulets of red from the tiny creature staining the sand below him, but he didn’t allow himself to linger. This was just a much-needed pick-me-up. He lifted the rabbit to his mouth and savoured the very moment his fangs split open its smooth skin, parting with ease, blood cascading into his mouth as he chewed. It didn’t help much–animals rarely did–but it curbed the ever-reaching arms of hunger that threatened to choke him on days like this.
He got to his feet, dusting himself of sand and offhandedly brushing his hand across his mouth. It came away scarlet. He didn’t have time to clean himself fully, instead settling for frantically wiping his face, because Grian’s form had already crested the cactus wall and was steadily making its way to their base, gait determined and intent as ever.
“Grian!” Scar greeted enthusiastically, taking care not to show off his fangs too much as he smiled. He wouldn’t put it past Grian to immediately identify that something was different with him, and he couldn’t have Grian knowing. Not when Grian already felt he was stuck in the desert with a madman.
Grian lifted his face, squinting his eyes against the morning sun, to look at him. “Scar,” Grian returned, and then frowned. “Why do you have blood on your face?”
Scar paused. “I don’t! It’s just, uh, my appearance. You’re probably not used to seeing me all grey, huh?” he ad-libbed, “Rocking muscles, am I right?” He flexed his biceps and grinned.
Grian’s eyes narrowed, though thankfully it seemed like his exasperation had distracted him from his query. “Put your clothes back on, Scar.”
He complied, trailing behind Grian as he watched Grian rummage through their chests. “Say, Grian,” Scar said, still watching Grian run around their base, “would you, by any chance, happen to have any food?”
“Oh, yeah,” Grian replied, “I just put it in the chest, hold on.” Seconds later, he produced a few pieces of steak. Scar’s stomach rumbled as he practically leapt forward to acquire the meat, and he didn’t miss how Grian looked at him then, but he was too overcome by sudden hunger to care. He scarfed it down, all while Grian pretended to look off into the distant desert horizon.
Once he was finished, he raised his face to meet Grian’s inscrutable gaze. “Hey–? G? Why’re you–”
“What’s up with you, Scar?” Grian asked, his tone curt and to-the-point, like he was being interrogated.
“Wh– what do you mean?” Scar batted back, attempting to play it off coolly, but the ends of his sentence quirked up into a conspicuously higher octave. Grian didn’t have to say anything for the weight of his gaze to drag on Scar. “It’s nothing, Grian.”
“It’s not nothing,” Grian decided, his wings flapping in anguish behind his back. They were locked by code, Scar remembered, because being an avian would give Grian an advantage in the game. The struggling sound of feathers slapping against each other before falling short was wretched. And… alluring. He hated it, but his claws twitched to part those frantic wings. Scar felt his breathing pick up and turned his gaze to the ground before worse imagery would begin to seep into his head. He hadn’t been so far into a situation like this without help before.
“Just tell me,” came Grian’s voice again, and then he was squeezing Scar’s arm, his touch scorching. Goddamnit, why had they settled in a desert, it was so hot and Scar was certain he was about to die.
“I can’t, G!” Scar said, his tone enthused with distress. “I’m fine. I just need food.”
“What, are you starving yourself or something?” Grian pressured, in that matter-of-fact way of his. “Why are you so off-kilter today?”
“I’m hungry!” Scar whined, coming out as more of an inhuman yowl than anything coherent. He saw Grian’s eyes widen and take a step back. When he felt the sharp tips of his fangs meet his lips, he realised why.
“What… are you?” Grian stammered. He sounded awed, and Scar didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how Grian wasn’t running away and never looking back.
“Can we go inside?” Scar murmured, the merciless sun beating down on them starting to get to him. Grian just nodded, adjusting his shawl as he walked, feet thudding on the sand. Being inside felt stuffier, but Scar could calm himself with the hallways they had made. The windows were easier to manage than the endless expanse of bleached scenery outside, stinging his eyes for miles.
Grian stood by the kitchen, his hands crossed over his chest. His wings had stopped their desolate beating, but his feet tapped out a wary prey’s rhythm on the sandstone. Scar sat by the table, head bowed, pressing his fingers into his stomach to assuage the pain. The tapping was the only thing he could hear, and finally he had enough of it.
“I’m a vex hybrid,” he said, almost under his breath. He slowly raised his head to meet Grian’s stare, bracing for his reaction.
“A vex…” Grian muttered, pressing his fingers to his temples. A beat passed wherein nobody said anything. “Right. Okay. So you didn’t think to tell me this before we all got teleported into a death game and I teamed with you?”
Scar was slightly taken aback that he was being regarded with chastising akin to the scolding of a child rather than fear and horror. “...Sorry,” was all Scar could offer with a sheepish, weak smile. He tried to ignore the sting of the points of his teeth piercing his flesh.
Grian sighed, all of a sudden seeming as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as he took a seat across from Scar. Scar regarded him warily, unsure where Grian was taking this. Maybe Grian would just kill Scar right here and end his season. Then he could go back to Hermitcraft and actually fix this issue. Yeah, that was it, Scar thought. He waited patiently for Grian to get his sword out and then this would all be over. Sad that they hadn’t been able to ride into battle together, but Grian was better off without him anyway.
What he didn’t expect was Grian pushing up out of the chair after a moment’s silence, a determined look set in his eye. “Let’s go then.”
Scar blinked. “Go? Where are we going?”
“I figure upstairs would be a better place for it,” Grian was saying, half to himself. “Don’t want to get our entryway all splattered. We might have guests in the future, you know.”
So Grian’s going to kill me upstairs? Scar felt that was fine. Grian did bring up a good point about not wanting to get blood in the sandstone. They’d be scrubbing that for ages. Or, well, Grian would, after this. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The two made their way upstairs, Scar letting Grian go ahead of him. Every step felt torturous and sluggish, but after what seemed like ages, Scar finally reached the top. He was instantly confused by the sight of Grian sitting on their shared bed, suddenly skittish, his wings fighting harder than Scar had ever seen to undo their binds.
“Uh… G?” Scar questioned. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he tried again. “What?”
Grian looked at him as if he were the one making no sense. “Well, I’m sorry. I haven’t really done this before.”
A sliver of realisation crawled inside Scar’s brain, and it almost made him sick. “No. What? G, you don’t mean…”
Grian shrugged as if they were just exchanging small talk. “I know about vexes, Scar. Animals don’t really help with the hunger, do they?” Scar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Grian couldn’t possibly be suggesting what he thought he was. And if he was, then Scar was not the madman in this desert.
“You don’t know, Grian–”
“No, I’m pretty sure I do,” Grian cut him off. “Just do it now before you shrivel up or something. I’m in your debt, remember?”
Scar felt nauseous again, the walls closing in on him. “You shouldn’t do this just because you think you’re in my debt. G, it’s really bad, you don’t understand. I’ll be fine.”
Grian frowned sternly. “No, you won’t. I’m offering, Scar.”
Scar was finding it extremely hard to concentrate on the words being said above the sound of blood rushing in his ears. It was despicable, what Grian was saying, it made every single hair on his arms bristle with wrongness. But his teeth were stretching again, cartilage weaponising themselves into daggers, his claws pricked his palms where he was clenching them into fists. He could feel himself losing control, spots dancing across his vision.
And there was a bird sitting in front of him. Patient. Watching. There was a bird! He was so hungry, and there was a bird, why wasn’t he hunting? It was stationed so perfectly still, too, he would be crazy for not taking this opportunity. He stalked closer, watching the bird as it stiffened, wings clattering against invisible rope as it scrambled to get away. His claws clamped onto it, and the bird let out a pained yell. It was shaking beneath him, yet seemed to be suppressing every survival instinct, keeping itself as stationary as possible. What good prey. He dug into it with his claws, everything fading into the background as he indulged his hunger, blood dribbling down his lips. The flesh was the best thing he had tasted in ages; he ate like a feast. Those wings, though, constantly beating against his face, his claws– he grabbed hold of them, feeling as they suddenly went limp as he combed through them. He pried them apart, feathers splitting at the seams, claws piercing keratin. They beat every couple of seconds, slowly, weakly, an almost-dead heart, until they stopped moving altogether. Blood coated Scar’s hands, face, his entire self seemed like he had been doused in it. His eyes cleared slowly, swallowing thickly as he took in the sight around him.
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Grian was slain by GoodTimeWithScar
<Smajor1995> WHAT???
<Smallishbeans> excuse me
<Etho> ?
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Grian. It was Grian. Scar’s memories came back to him in fragments, hitting him like a slap to the face as they did. What he had eaten almost came back up as he thought back to how he had acted– like an animal. He was a monster. Tears gathered in his eyes, his guilt amplifying by tenfold when he realised that he felt so much better. The hunger was gone as if it had never come, his movements finally quick and agile instead of the listless walking corpse he had been. Disgust overcame him as he looked upon Grian’s bloody body. He knew what he had to do.
He carried Grian out, slowly, carefully, adjusting his torn wings against Scar’s chest so that they did not fold more than they already had. Blood stained the white, stained Scar’s clothes, stained the sand when Scar lowered Grian into the grave he had dug. He shovelled sand back on top of it, hands shaking, staining the shovel. Everything he touched was red. Soon, there was no indication that Grian’s body lay there in the sand other than the red that had seeped into it.
Scar turned around, walking back to the mountain where he knew Grian would be, sitting on their bed like nothing had happened. He couldn’t face him, he knew he couldn’t, but he forced himself upstairs anyway. Grian deserved to at least see the face of his murderer, and maybe Grian would kill him then.
When he walked inside, he was not met with a Grian with hard-set eyes, his mouth pressed into a line, and a sword in hand. Instead, Grian was by the window, admiring his… wings. Shockingly, a smile painted Grian’s lips, a genuine smile. Scar, overwhelmed, took a moment to take it all in. Grian’s wings were untethered, unbound, and filled half the space in their room. They wafted freely, white feathers pristine. Grian met Scar’s awestruck gaze, and his smile split into an even bigger grin.
“Scar!” he exclaimed. “My wings, they’re… back.” He trailed off, his fingers tracing a stray feather. It had only been a few weeks since the game started, but Scar understood how painful it was for Grian to keep a natural part of himself behind bars, probably more than most people did.
“Grian…” Scar started. He couldn’t find words to fill his mouth, when usually, he had tons of them. An arsenal of shiny words that could accomplish anything from dancing around an uncomfortable subject to getting worthless junk sold, spun as something great. This time, they failed him. He couldn’t spin what had just happened into anything other than what it was. “I’m sorry. I’m horrible, I… I lost myself,” he said instead, looking at Grian’s new yellow name. He had done that.
“That was kind of the point, Scar,” Grian replied easily, not in the slightest bit concerned or afraid. Scar would have laughed in disbelief if he could find it himself to express anything other than bone-weary anguish. “I did it willingly, and I got my wings back, so it’s a win-win for us, eh?” Grian gave him that look, the one with embers burning behind his pupils. “You may have to keep me in check, in case I fly on instinct.”
“But you’re leaving,” Scar said. “You’re not indebted to me anymore. You lost your first life.”
Grian just shook his head.
Scar wondered how he could possibly have ended up in a better situation than before he had literally eaten his best friend.