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Etho coughed as the taste of smoke and ash filled his mouth. His eyes flew open—only for the hot orange light to blind him, immediately swarming his vision with stinging tears.
“W-what the—” He scrambled on the overly warm ground, feeling roughly polished wood against his palms. Etho tried to inhale, only to cough once more as his mask clung to his lips.
He moved on autopilot, with the instinctual reaction that any creature would have waking up in the midst of a fire; Etho tried to escape. He found a wall (oddly curved, but that wasn’t pressing at the moment) and threw his weight against it. Once, twice. Wooden boards creaked and something far overhead gave way, slamming through the structure somewhere to Etho’s right. Sparks flew, the flames crackling, the air raw and scorching. His shoulder protested with bright blooms of pain as Etho rammed the wall a final time.
With a sharp splintering sound, Etho went through and came out the otherside. Blessedly cool, fresh air flooded his lungs and soothed his skin as Etho tumbled several feet downwards, crashing onto grass and dirt. He wheezed, winded—and the second he could make his body move, Etho dragged himself further from the inferno, down the steep hill.
His hands and knees eventually impacted frigid stone. Etho allowed himself to collapse onto his side, rolling onto his back. He squinted up at the sunny blue sky, pinching the fabric of his mask and dragging it down. For several long seconds, he simply breathed in and out, clearing the last of the smoke from his lungs.
A few lazy, puffy clouds floated leisurely overhead. Etho finally spared the energy to consider the question that was most pressing, second only to the fire—
—where the hell was he?
A few minutes later found Etho standing on what he now knew was the side of a mountain, with a strange combination of unease and deja vu twisting his chest into knots. The landscape unfolded before him in the form of a truly expansive ravine, the bottom entirely covered in water. The high cliffs and hills that ringed it, upon a moment’s closer inspection, held a multitude of strange, ramshackle buildings.
Familiar buildings, Etho couldn’t help but think. To confirm his suspicions, he finally turned around—towards the inferno that for an inexplicable reason, Etho was reluctant to witness.
Before him, beached proudly on the top of a hill that water had never touched, was a ship. A massive schooner that blazed against the sky—sails crackling like phoenix wings and wood illuminated from the inside out. It was beautiful and terribly flammable. And for some reason, Etho’s chest seized with a grief he couldn’t justify.
His home was burning.
…his home?
Something was wrong. Etho looked around once more, only to find his attention dragged back to the hill, to the ship. He advanced slowly towards it, searching for something. Unconsciously, his hand rose to his chest, fingertips resting atop his sternum. Direction, he instinctively knew. A path to follow. A tether to guide him.
Guide him to what? Etho blinked, attempting to clear the disorientation that did little to slow his walk back up towards the ship. He could have sworn he was on Hermitcraft. Another server, another world. What had he been doing? Something with his sword—fighting mobs? PvP?
But no, that couldn’t have been Hermitcraft, because…the world wasn't right. The builds weren’t right, the people—and besides, everytime Etho participated in one of these series, it was a continuous thing. They didn’t go back to home servers, not until they were out of the games or there was a victor.
Before he could properly parse out exactly how he came to that conclusion, Etho rounded the bow of the ship, towards a chest monster tucked back amidst spruce trees. There was a convenient path for him to follow; he stepped onto it, only to immediately pause when he saw a figure.
Etho wasn’t surprised. Somehow, he already knew they would be there.
Silhouettes danced; although the sky was still blue, the sun was creeping towards sunset quickly. Shadows stretched long and distorted, further morphed by the blazing ship.
Light caught the figure’s face and an inhale stuck fast in the back of Etho’s throat. Etho already knew who he was looking at.
Joel was an emotional man. It was something Etho had come to know over their time as a soulbound pair—Joel felt everything twice as strong as anyone else. Anxiety, glee, anger, joy—it was a blessing and a curse, for them both.
Standing there, watching The Relationship burn, Joel’s face was emotionless.
It was a first in all of Double Life—Double Life, of course that was where he was, why was Etho ever confused—and filled with a growing concern and dread, Etho jolted into movement once more, towards his partner’s side.
Joel didn’t twitch as Etho neared, his gaze unwavering. “They burned it down,” he murmured. Low, dull.
“I saw,” said Etho. “I came as fast as I could.” He spoke with honesty, even though the declaration was inaccurate.
“They burned it down, Etho,” Joel repeated, a dark anger finally creeping into his voice. Joel’s hands clenched into tight fists at his side. His eyes, as red as the flames, blazed with the start of a fury that would become a supernova. Joel’s hair normally held a green streak—but it had been red for long enough that Etho thought the new color almost seemed to suit him more.
They were on red. Together. Souls intertwined, hearts shared. Partners by fate, teammates by design. Between them, they only shared one final crimson life; their next death would take them both out of the game for good.
Etho found that he felt angry too, and only a little bit because of the ship. It was merely a base, after all—and bases didn’t last long in these games. Certainly not flammable ones made of wood and wool.
But it was a base that Joel had built. For them. It was a base that Joel loved, that Joel defended. And Joel—he was Etho’s other half. Etho’s vulnerability and Etho’s strength. The only one on the server that Etho could trust, the only one whose motive was as clear as crystal, the only one who’s heart rested just left of Etho’s own. As close as it could be without being one and the same.
“We’ll make them pay,” said Etho. His words, though quiet, burned as hot as the ship. He stepped forward—for as long as Joel had had eyes only for their crumbling home, Etho had had eyes only for him. Now, Joel finally tipped his head down, turning to look back at his partner.
Their gazes met, red on red. Invisible between them, a string curled, linking life forces and syncing heartbeats.
Grimly, Joel smiled. Etho couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Joel look so serious, which was odd because Joel always took these games too seriously. “The ship burns, everything burns, Etho.”
Etho nodded once; stoic and without hesitation.
“Where do we start?”
---
Etho honestly hadn’t meant to mess with anything. He had just been bored—something he would never dare say to Joel’s face. It wasn’t that Joel’s base this season was boring, it wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, it was a bit of a sensory overload; bright colors, shining lights, and fantastical motifs of flowers and candy.
But it was…simple, compared to the jaw dropping metropolis Etho had watched Joel build in Season Ten. By comparison, his rainbow peninsula this season was small and underdeveloped. It didn’t fit the expectations of what Etho knew Joel could create. Etho would never bring it up, because he was a good friend and it was more than a little impolite to infringe on someone else’s creative process. But a part of him couldn’t help but be disappointed. There simply wasn’t a lot to see; a cute cottage, a colorful lighthouse, a flourishing barn, and a freshly constructed lumber yard. A twenty minute lap was a generous estimation of how long a tour would last.
Hence, the boredom. And Etho’s mistake.
He had come by to talk to Joel because Bdubs had not long ago pulled Etho aside, explaining how he had invited Joel to join in on their new business for the shopping district. Etho had been thrilled—and more than a little bit shocked. Joel and Bdubs had a rocky relationship, to say the least. The previous season had been characterized by arguments, fights, and a bitter rivalry. And while Joel had seemingly thrown himself into Season Eleven with the desire to turn over a new leaf, Bdubs was the type to hold a very long and very intense grudge.
That being said, Etho had leaped at the opportunity Bdubs’ uncharacteristic forgiveness had provided. Both men were incredibly important in Etho’s life, and while they could be civil, it had always been Etho’s secret hope that they would grow to get along better than that. That it could stop being a case of each of them being friends only with him, and maybe instead they could all be friends together. But Etho wasn’t good at talking about that kind of thing, so he had simply fallen into the trap of waiting, watching, and hoping.
For once, it seemed things might have worked out on their own, despite his chronic inaction.
But Joel wasn’t anywhere on his base—and Etho wasn’t going to leave without being able to nurture the seed of peace that had been sown—so he was sitting in what passed for maybe a kitchen in Joel’s main cottage, waiting.
Etho had pulled a book out of the bookshelf, simply for something to flip through.
The book evidently triggered a redstone mechanism he was not supposed to find, as beside him, a previously undetectable trap door slid open. Hesitantly, Etho peered down at the artificial light below. He considered, for a moment, slipping the book back into place.
Instead, he slid the book into the outer pocket of his vest and began to climb down.
Metal grating creaked beneath his boot as Etho reached the bottom. He frowned down at the utilitarian flooring, then frowned harder as he turned around. The air was alive with the whirring faux-life of machinery. It smelled faintly of redstone and prickled against his skin like electricity.
Etho walked carefully down the claustrophobically narrow tunnel, lit from beneath the grated floor with white light. When he finally stepped into the larger room beyond, he stopped fast.
In a way, the room before Etho mirrored the aesthetic of the surface—in so far as there were bright colors everywhere, set into the walls and floor. Burbling tubes of vibrant liquid hummed to either side, bracketed by pipes, screens, and chests. Sun-lamp illuminated shelves held specimens of dye flowers, with nearby wracks supporting jars of colored liquid.
One massive screen took up the far wall, holding a red-tinted aerial image of the server that occasionally flickered with static snow. Lying on a table beneath it was a half-completed map, scrawled with notes in indecipherable handwriting.
In the center of it all, however, serving as the centerpiece of the room, was a circular table. From the top of it, a rainbow seemed to bloom, holding a physical presence that light alone shouldn’t have been able to possess. It wavered every so slightly, like mist or a mirage, projected by something deep within the table’s core.
Hidden sections of bases—hell, hidden laboratories even—were not uncommon on Hermitcraft. They were practically expected from people like Cub and Doc. And the find neatly explained why the surface of Joel’s base was lacking; evidently much of his time and effort was being devoted to underground building, the kind of work that went unfairly unnoticed.
Etho laughed. This explained so much. There was a strange relief to know that he had been right in his expectations of Joel, that the surface was only a fraction of what he was capable of. Etho hadn’t quite realized he had been worried, but he was.
Well now the mystery was solved, and Etho felt quite pleased with himself.
“A peek around wouldn’t hurt,” he hummed, self-satisfied. “If Joel didn’t want it found, he should have hidden the entrance better—all I did was remove a book! Anyone could do that.” Already, Etho was idly considering more complicated redstone that would hide the laboratory’s entrance better. Or maybe he shouldn’t tell Joel he found it at all; let him keep the excitement of having an ‘undiscovered’ secret.
Etho drifted around the room, curiously taking in every sight and sound. He squinted at a few of the large tubes, trying to see if anything was inside. The cloudy, bubble-filled, colorful liquid made it hard to make out anything. He examined the nearby jars, concluding that they were likely dye, a substance that Joel’s base no doubt guzzled.
He passed up another tunnel that led into a further room in favor of examining the central table before he moved on. Curiously, Etho waved his gloved hand through the rainbow. His hand effortlessly cut through the light—but his fingers tingled as he pulled away, a pins-and-needles-like sensation. He shook out his hand until the feeling faded and fascinated, leaned closer to peer into the central crevice of the table from which the rainbow originated.
He jolted backwards with a gasp.
“What the fuck,” Etho blurted. Swallowing, he leaned forward once more, just to double check. Just to make sure his eyes weren’t failing him.
Within the center of the rainbow, nestled down in a semi-circular vat in the center of the table, was a disgusting puddle of gore, flesh, and blood. How the smell didn’t fill the air, Etho had no idea—the blood was a dark brown, heavily oxygenated but still somehow wet. The viscera made the mass in the center of it all difficult to distinguish, but Etho could see animalistic bone and teeth, half-covered in fine hairs and rotting flesh.
“What the fuck,” He repeated, taking a few quick steps backwards. His hand instinctively rose to cover his mouth and nose, but all he felt was his mask and all he could smell was flowers. The sweet aroma of petals, tinged with the sharpness of redstone machinery.
Etho gave the strange, tingle-inducing rainbow a far more dubious look as he moved further back, away from the table. He had felt a shiver of unease upon first descending the ladder, like something had been wrong with this place. It had faded in the face of rainbows, flowers, and walls as colorful as the surface. Now the feeling was back in full force, back tenfold. Something was very, very wrong.
Almost on instinct, Etho turned—away from the table and the ladder he had descended down—to stare at the tunnel forward he had ignored. He didn’t hesitate now, moving forward with quick, purposeful steps.
He didn’t know what he expected to find, but it wasn’t an underground room that was hollowed out so cavernously that it was the size of a rocket silo. The suspended catwalk beneath Etho’s feet creaked as he crept closer, eyes wide. The entire center of the room was taken up by a massive cylinder that hummed with potential and shone with rhythmic, pulsing lights.
The buzz in the air was stronger now, accompanied by the occasional crackling sound from the machine before him. Etho’s best guess was that the creation was a generator—a massive, incredibly oversized generator.
Etho’s gaze flicked up.
The rainbow.
It was visible on the surface; the base of a rainbow, stretching up out of the ground and a bed of rocks up towards the sky. It was small, incomplete, and Etho remembered thinking it resembled a pond of multicolored light. He hadn’t stopped to question what was producing the rainbow, if anything at all. There always seemed to be magic around Hermitcraft, or technology powerful enough to effectively be magic in its own right. No one had questioned Grian’s Entity, or the rift to Empires, or how Ren had decided to become a wizard. No one questioned floating islands and glowing crystals; why would Etho question a rainbow?
The generator was impressive—but nothing about it appeared to justify the growing dread and unease building up in Etho’s chest. He crept closer, eyeing the catwalk ahead that would allow him to access a maintenance port and peer inside.
The rainbow above him made the one in the room before seem tiny. The one produced by the table.
The one emanating from blood and gore.
Etho’s footsteps echoed loudly down the massive chamber as he moved forward, mounting the stairs towards the generator’s hatch. The catwalk groaned and creaked—the handrail was warm under Etho’s gloved palm, heated by proximity to the machinery.
Set into the maintenance hatch was a wheel handle. Etho reached out and it slowly gave way under his weight, turning sluggishly but smoothly. The port door swung open with a hiss, filling Etho’s face with steam and hot air that crackled like the sky moments before a thunderstorm. Up the center of the generator was a central shaft, supporting level upon level of metal plating, pipes, and pulsing red lights that stretched down, down down. Overhead, the rainbow shone and twinkled, a mist-like cloud of color and light.
Etho’s gaze slipped across the walls of the generator, first sweeping the layer directly in front of him, then focusing on the next one down.
There, in countless vats set into the generator’s interior frame, was what Etho already suspected he’d find.
The viscera and gore within the generator seemed fresher than that of the table, but not by much. There were so many—more than Etho was willing to stop and count—each cradling what vaguely resembled the decapitated skull of an animal, swimming in blood and fluids. Pipes cross-connected the vats, filled with thick red blood, finding their way to the center of the generator like a mockery of a circulatory system.
The red traveled up and up, to the rainbow above.
Thoroughly disturbed, Etho carefully stepped back out of the generator. He closed the hatch with shaking hands, mind racing so quickly that he was hardly paying attention to the world in front of him anymore.
What the actual hell was Joel doing? Normally Etho didn’t consider himself squeamish; he was a fighter, after all. He PvPed, he participated in death games for fun, he killed animals the same as the next player.
But this was different. Etho’s skin felt clammy with goosebumps. A frigid unease had taken up permanent residence at the base of his spine; an itch to flee that was difficult to ignore.
He spun around, descending the catwalk’s stairs back in the direction of the first room, back in the direction of the ladder out. The book in his vest pocket pressed against his side, reminding him of the exposed entrance. He needed to find someone else—yes, that was what Etho had to do. Bdubs, ideally. Or Xisuma. Hell, Etho would take almost anyone, if he could spill what he just saw and have anyone try to explain to him what was going on.
A part of him wanted to be reassured that he was overreacting.
Etho moved a bit too fast to be called walking, boots clanging in the stillness—and catching movement in his upper peripherals, Etho suddenly tilted his head up from the absent gaze he had been casting the grating beneath him.
Etho froze, foot coming down hard as he jolted himself to a stop.
Standing, blocking the tunnel between the generator silo and the initial laboratory room, was Joel.
Joel gazed at Etho steadily, his body blocking the path back to the laboratory.
All season, Joel had been affecting a joyful, bubbly, happy personality. His smile was noticeably absent now. Lips in a thin line and eyes dark with disapproval clashed against the rainbow streak in Joel’s hair and the goofy jester-like nature of his white hat and suit, adorned with green and red. There were bells on the tails of his coat and the tips of his pointed shoes—yet Etho hadn’t heard a single jangle hareld the man’s approach.
“Er. Joel…” said Etho, helplessly. His awkward words dried up, failing him.
“You’re not supposed to be down here, Etho.” Joel’s voice was even and calm. In sharp contrast to Etho, there wasn’t one bit of hesitation in his entire body.
“Sorry,” said Etho dumbly. “I…I didn’t mean to pry.”
“None of this is something you were supposed to see.” Joel tilted his head slightly, his eyes boring into Etho.
Etho considered lying for a moment. Pretending he hadn’t seen anything.
He had never been a very good liar.
“Joel, what are you doing down here?” Etho cautiously asked, gesturing to the generator. “What—what is this?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” Joel smiled, taking a step forward. Etho took one back. Not one of the bells on Joel’s clothes jingled, despite them swaying with his movement.
“I think it does concern me, if we’re gonna be business partners,” Etho sharply retorted. Joel paused, a contemplative look flickering across his face. “Finding a laboratory in someone’s basement—one with, with blood and guts, Joel—it sure puts a damper on the idea of cooperation. And I know damn well Bdubs doesn’t know about this, or he never would have brought you in on our project. Does—does anyone know about this?”
As the words spilled out, angry and frantic, Etho watched Joel’s expression sharpen into something dark.
“Of course no one knows about this,” said Joel lowly. “I think you had better forget what you’ve seen, Etho—what you think you’ve seen. After all, everything here is completely normal. Don’t you remember?”
“Don’t start with that ‘everything is normal and fine’ tirade.” Etho took another step backwards, pointing fiercely at Joel. “You know no one believes that, right? Not when you say it so creepy. I thought it was funny. I thought you were just being weird for the bit. Not anymore.”
“Careful, Etho.”
“You’re powering a generator on blood,” Etho snapped. “You have tanks full of skulls and gore down here, Joel. I mean seriously. Why?”
“Rainbows don’t just appear out of nowhere.” Abruptly, Joel laughed—patronizing and almost soft, like this should have been obvious. “I’m creating them.” He sounded proud, as though relaying a great discovery. Etho failed to see the connection between rainbows and blood.
“...you obviously know it’s messed up, because you’re hiding it underground.”
“I was doing you a favor. And you still decided to snoop. It isn’t my fault that you didn’t like what you found when you were never supposed to see it to begin with.”
“Fine.” Etho huffed and drew the book out of his vest pocket. Joel’s eyes flicked towards it immediately. “I’ll go. Okay? But you aren’t getting out of this so easily. Seriously—this isn’t like you, Joel. I mean, you’re—you’re callous sometimes, but you aren’t cruel.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” said Joel suddenly, coldly. He smiled, although it was closer to a grimace.
“Of course I do.” Etho frowned, stung. “We’re friends. This isn’t normal. Why are you doing this? For—for rainbows, Joel, really?”
“I’m not letting you walk out of here just to spill all my secrets, Etho.” Joel began to walk forward slowly, smile tight and tense.
“Stop that,” Etho told him, although it didn’t stall Joel’s advance. “I just don’t get it. Do you not realize that this is worrying behavior? Having blood in your basement?”
“Everything is fine,” Joel reassured. His words, gentle and almost sing-songy, did not match the furious glint in his eyes. Etho tensed, his hand thoughtlessly drifting towards the sword at his hip. “Everything is perfectly normal! There’s nothing to worry about. This is a happy place, Etho.”
“Joel, cut it out,” Etho warned. His palm closed around the hilt as Joel stepped closer, too close, almost into Etho’s space. He didn’t hold anything, weapon or otherwise—but Etho suddenly became aware of how the air was buzzing and crackling, just like how it had within the generator. It also practically reeked of flowers, cloyingly sweet.
Joel’s smile stretched maniacally wide, and before Etho’s eyes, Joel…glitched.
His very form seemed to distort, rippling waves of red static cross cutting the air like a television screen. The edges of Joel’s form wavered and popped as a sharp buzzing hit Etho’s ears, loud enough to make him wince. He stumbled back, mouth agape beneath his mask and sword in hand.
Tinted red, Joel's limbs now appeared too long, his head cocked too far. He seemed to jump between normal proportions and something artificially stretched. His eyes glazed over, black.
“Everything was normal, Etho,” said Joel, and his voice was glitching too. Static interlaced the words as they layered atop one another, creating the sensation of two, three, four people talking in unison. “Until you decided to snoop!”
With a roar, Joel leapt forward. Etho shrieked in genuine fear and swung his sword. He threw himself to the side, his back painfully colliding with the railing of the catwalk as Joel surged past him. He whirled around a second later with a furious snarl. Etho lashed out again, using his blade to cover his retreat as he stumbled back—their positions now swapped—moving quickly towards the laboratory, towards the exit.
“What happened to you?!” Etho cried, staring in horror at the inhuman, glitching mass that only partially resembled his friend. “Joel—let me get Xisuma. Let me help you—”
“Help? HA!” Joel laughed. It was a horrible sound, dissonant and nasty. “I’m not going to let you ruin this for me. I’m not going to let you tattle and destroy all I’ve built.”
Etho’s eyes widened and he wordlessly took that understated threat as his cue to run. He turned, bolting back into the laboratory. Joel’s crackling static and maniacal laughter chased him, close behind.
“Etho!” Joel crowed, lyrical and sweet. “Why are you running from me? Isn’t it just a beautiful day to die?”
“Stay the hell away from me!” Etho dodged the rainbow table in the center of the room, sprinting for the ladder. There was a screeching sound like nails on a chalkboard and the world around Etho warped. He skidded to a frantic, reeling stop as the walls and floors glitched, momentarily fracturing into geometrical slashes of blocky color. Streaks of TV snow crosscut everything, wavering and flickering.
Etho stumbled backwards, his free hand only barely coming up in time to stop himself by falling as he caught himself on the table. The static wavered and began to clear as the air before Etho shimmered—and as though he teleported like an enderman, Joel appeared in front of Etho, blocking his path to the ladder.
Only to say the figure was Joel no longer felt correct. He hovered in the air, several feet off the ground. Limbs too long and shape jittering with interference, Joel looked more like a computer virus come to life. A computer virus that dressed like a jester.
Despite his terror, the hysterical urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all curled in the back of Etho’s throat.
“Who are you?” Etho’s voice was strained. “What are you?”
“That’s blummin’ rude,” ‘Joel’ pouted. It sounded so much like his friend that Etho’s heart ached. “Who the hell do you think I am, Etho?” It might have been convincing if the virus didn’t immediately smile so wide it would put a shark to shame; cold and viciously satisfied.
“Not Joel. Where is he? What did you do to him?”
“You ask too many questions.” The virus rolled its eyes. Etho carefully adjusted his grip on his sword. Although it was at his side, seemingly loose, he was prepared to strike the second the virus made a move—or left an opening for Etho to escape.
“Some friends you guys are. He’s been gone for ages. Even before then, nobody gave a shit; and let me tell you, Joel isn’t the most subtle guy.” The virus laughed like it had just made a joke. “Or maybe I’m just real convincing.”
“...what did you do to him?” Etho repeated, unable to hide his horror. In his chest, his heart was racing double time, faster than even the previous danger had inspired. What did gone mean? It had better not mean that Joel was perma-dead, or—or Etho didn’t know what he’d do.
Scream, maybe. It was unthinkable.
He was shaking. The virus just laughed at him all the harder.
“Aw. You can’t get him back, I’m sorry to say.” It gave Etho a long look of mock pity.
Etho’s communicator was in his back pocket. He cursed himself for not sending a message sooner—the second he found the blood in the table. He could have had half the server here by now, including all the people with admin powers. Including Xisuma. But he had been too worried he was overreacting. He tried to think of any way he could still get a message out without the virus noticing; but he couldn’t do anything if he couldn’t see the screen.
He was ignoring the virus’s words. He was blocking them out. It was a liar anyways.
“Well,” it said, somewhere that felt far away past Etho’s ringing ears and racing mind, “This has gotten boring. I thought you might put up a fight or something.” It lifted a crackling hand, and Etho had the good sense to bring up his sword.
He deflected the first blow. His blade connected with something solid, even though he seemingly swung into a cloud of fuzziness. The virus let out twin sounds, a growl of frustration and a whoop of delight that overlapped and intertwined one another as Etho dove to the side, avoiding another hit.
“You’re cute!” The virus laughed, layers upon layers of voice echoing all at once. “I see why Joel liked you.”
Etho was going to kill this thing.
Their dance stretched on over the course of a minute—a blur of dodging and swinging that left the laboratory in ruins, with soil spilled on the floor and colorful liquid drenching the tiles. The virus was no longer laughing; at some point, amusement had shifted into annoyance. Now, the virus seemed enraged. It wasn’t having fun anymore.
Good.
The virus didn’t fight fair; it turned everything in the room against him. Portions of the room dissolved and sections of the floor floated like gravity had ceased to exist. Reality distorted into static that bent to the virus’ will, unmaking and remaking itself to its design.
It was a fight Etho was never supposed to win. He needed help, needed backup, needed admins. He still tried, alone as he was, powered by something terrifyingly close to grief.
Launching himself off a piece of the floor that floated in a void of interference, Etho plunged his sword forward, aiming for the virus’ chest. And for a single second, alarmed fear flickered across the virus’—Joel’s—face.
Etho wavered. With a sharp swing of its arm, the virus batted him away like a gnat, sending Etho flying across the room. He collided with the wall, the air completely knocked from his lungs. He slumped to the ground.
“Enough,” snarled the virus. Etho wheezed for breath, fingers scrambling against the floor. His sword had been knocked from his hand—all he could feel were shards of glass and cold metal beneath him. “This is boring now. I’m sick of you.”
Fuck you, Etho tried to spit. He coughed instead, still struggling to breathe. Shaking, he pushed himself up onto his knees, trying to rise fully to his feet.
The virus floated in front of him, arms crossed. There was a scowl drawn across its face. Every few seconds it minutely flinched, as though facing a rhythmic, pulsing headache. A few feet away, Etho spotted his sword.
He lunged for it.
The virus quickly flicked a finger; next thing he knew, Etho found himself back on his knees as the virus seized his wrist, yanking it up so high above his head that Etho’s shoulder protested in pain. Etho grit his teeth, white-hot fury trivializing the discomfort.
“Bye bye,” hummed the virus—without any of the cheer the words ought to imply.
“Like hell—!” Etho snarled, but the virus reached out with the hand not keeping Etho in place and slammed its palm against Etho’s forehead.
He only had a split second to cry out in shock before vertigo swept his every sense, making the world violently spin. Everything was red and sparking, as though the static had consumed him. Etho collided with something hard; perhaps the ground.
He lay there, paralyzed by dizziness, as nausea and fear twisted his stomach. There was buzzing, ringing, screeching, so loud it hurt.
Etho squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands over his ears. He curled himself into a trembling ball, trying to block out the hurricane raging around him. Was he dying? Was this what dying for good felt like?
Was this what had happened to Joel?
Finally, everything went still.
Disoriented and abruptly filled with the numb realization that he had no idea what was going on, Etho drew in a sharp, desperate breath.
The air tasted like smoke and ash.
---
The grass was cool between Etho’s fingers. He sat near the cliff-edge of the arena’s central ravine, picking at the flora at his side. The sun was almost entirely set in the west, and dusk fought to destroy the final streaks of sunset’s oranges and reds; the same shades that had consumed the Relationship as it burned.
Barely a foot to his left sat Joel, sharing the rare moment of peaceful silence.
They had spent the evening avenging their ship—the ship burns, everything burns, after all—by making sure all the other flammable bases around the arena fell victim to arson too. Etho hadn’t been able to shake the notion that something else was supposed to happen too; maybe because they hadn’t encountered anyone else during their evening of destruction.
Joel called it good fortune, even as he looked disappointed that there was no one to take his anger out on. Etho agreed that it was for the best—letting all the other teams take each other out, or at least weaken each other, was tactical.
Still, it made the arena feel strangely empty. That might have made Etho feel lonely too, except for the fact that Joel was there, and he had never felt lonely with Joel as his teammate.
“We have nowhere to sleep now,” Joel grumbled. It came out muffled and petulant; after all, he was sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs, chin tucked against his knees.
“It’ll be like the first few days again,” Etho shrugged. He couldn’t find it in himself to be that concerned about sleeping out under the stars. “It shouldn’t be that big a deal.”
“But it’s cold,” Joel whined. Under his mask, Etho bit back a smile. “And what if it rains?”
“Does it look like it’s going to rain?”
“It could! Or what if someone decides to attack us in the night? I bet Grian would, that seems like a Grian thing to do.” Joel scoffed. “Or Pearl—she’s been unhinged this season! Or, or Martyn, you know what, he’s the type to do something tryhard like that—”
“It’ll be fine,” Etho laughed. “We can sleep in shifts if you’re worried about getting jumped. And we can hide our beds in the spruce grove.”
“...if we do shifts, then you’re not going to get any sleep.” Joel sighed heavily. “Fine. If it’s in the trees, it’ll probably be fine…”
“Why would I not get any sleep?” Etho asked. “We’d both be taking shifts.”
Joel was suspiciously quiet.
“Joel,” Etho laughed, scandalized. “I’m not just going to stay up all night so you can sleep!”
“I didn’t say that,” Joel hurried to defend himself. “You’re just such the protector type, Etho, what can I say? And I’m a man who needs his beauty sleep. And his vengeance sleep, so I can make everyone pay for burning our ship even more tomorrow.”
“Right. Of course.” said Etho dryly. “Your impeccable logic is impossible to argue with.”
“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” Joel sounded disproprotionately pleased with himself.
“...but I’m not watching you sleep all night.”
“I didn’t say watch me sleep!”
“Uh, yes you did.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth!”
“Come on, Joel. I know you want me to, but I’m simply not going to watch you sleep, that’s weird—”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
Joel leaned over and slapped his hand over Etho’s gloved mouth, eyes narrowing further as Etho giggled.
“You’re the weirdo,” Joel told him firmly. “You're obsessed with me.”
“Oh am I?” Etho grinned. Joel’s hand muffled his words, and the other man pulled away.
“You are!”
“You put our beds next to each other on the ship, Joel.”
“Oh my god, not this again.” Groaning loudly, Joel threw his arms out and head back, as though begging the heavens for patience. “It was practical! The ship was narrow!”
“We’re soulmates Joel, you could have just asked if you wanted to cuddle,” Etho teased. He threw an arm around Joel’s shoulders, dragged him closer, and gave his head a light noogie.
“Oh har har.” Joel pushed him away and straightened, but stayed close enough that their shoulders remained pressed together. They fell silent once more; looking around, Etho realized that the sun was finally gone and night had truly fallen. The sky overhead was filled with countless stars. There was basically no light pollution on Double Life—not like how it was on Hermitcraft, where a month into a season meant everyone’s builds were already lighting up the night sky.
The night breeze was chilly, but Joel was warm against Etho’s side.
“It’s going to be weird, when this is over,” Joel quietly said. One of his hands rested over his chest, fingers idly drumming against the spot where Etho could feel the tether of his own soulbond.
“Yeah,” Etho sighed.
It had been weird. Especially with how abruptly they died—in the space of a second, the lava-trapped portal had consumed them both. A frustrating way to end the season. Etho had barely even gotten to feel the tether stretch before it snapped, and he and Joel were dead. Then, when he was neatly deposited back into the server hub, the soulbond was gone.
It had taken weeks to adjust. Weeks of wincing every time he injured himself, only to remember Joel couldn’t feel his pain anymore. Weeks of automatically seeking out the tug of the tether, only to be faced with the reality that he couldn’t sense the direction of Joel’s presence anymore.
Weeks of living completely alone, with the memory of a partner always at his side following him like a ghost. Joel wasn’t a part of Hermitcraft yet; they didn’t share any servers outside of Grian’s games.
“I missed this,” Etho quietly confessed, leaning further against his soulmate. The wind whistled; distantly, a bird cawed. It was peaceful.
Abruptly, Etho sat up.
“What’s wrong?” Joel asked as Etho’s head snapped around to stare at him. When Etho only continued to stare, Joel straightened as well, red eyes narrowing. “What? Is someone there?” Joel began to look around, reaching for his discarded sword.
“This already happened,” Etho breathed. Joel stilled, his urgency replaced with confusion as he turned towards Etho, face scrunched up in confusion. “And this never happened!” Etho gestured between them, around them—this conversation, this moment on the hill, this day of encountering nobody—that was never part of Double Life. Double Life was over. Double Life happened years ago.
“Etho, what are you talking about?” Joel huffed a nervous laugh, looking him up and down with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Stop, stop it. Just stop talking,” Etho snapped, pushing himself hurriedly to his feet. Still sitting, Joel stared up at him, stung. For a second, guilt momentarily distracted Etho, for putting that wounded expression on Joel’s face. He pushed it away and took a few steps back, looking around wildly.
“...Etho—” Joel slowly climbed to his feet, reaching out towards him.
“I knew something was wrong,” Etho snapped, and Joel stopped. “I knew and yet I-I still let you convince me otherwise!’
“What?” The look of hurt-confused-anxious-mad on Joel’s face was painfully accurate. “The hell, I—I didn’t do anything!”
“This is just fantasy. An illusion.” A raw laugh bubbled up in Etho’s throat and he turned away, lifting a hand to his forehead.
“You’re not making sense.” Joel’s voice was small in the way it only ever was when he was unequivocally upset. Etho hated that he knew that. Hated that it was happening. Hated that it was how Joel actually, truly would react. “This…this isn’t because of the sleep shifting thing? I was joking. Or—or the Relationship?”
Etho didn’t answer. He kept his back firmly turned, taking slow, strained breaths. The arena stretched out before him; cliffs, lake, the half-burned remains of other bases. The Ranchers’ ranch; Grian and Scar’s tiered cake; Martyn’s floating heart monstrosity; Scott and Cleo’s twin houses. All of it accurate. And yet the whole evening, Etho hadn’t seen a single one of them. It was just him. Just him and Joel.
In the silence, Etho heard Joel’s nervous gulp. Ordinarily, when Joel felt upset or defensive, he got angry. He yelled, he postured; he did everything in his power to emotionally protect himself. Over the years—and specifically over the month that was Double Life—Etho had grown to learn how much of a mask Joel’s anger truly was.
He had never wished so hard that Joel was yelling.
“You aren’t real,” Etho told him, still refusing to turn around. His voice cracked. “None of this is real.”
He wished it was. Because in reality, Joel wasn’t there. In reality, there was a possibility Joel was dead.
In reality, there was something wearing his once-soulmate’s face.
“Oh,” Etho heard Joel say. Quiet, miserable. And then nothing. Etho hesitated—and finally glanced over his shoulder.
Joel was gone. Where he had stood seconds before was only untouched grass and an abandoned sword. Against his will, a small, punched out sound of heartbreak escaped Etho’s lips.
And the world began to unravel. Streaks of light cut across the arena like flaws in a simulation as trees and buildings dissolved into static, winking out of existence. Etho stumbled back a few steps, but the ground beneath his feet was collapsing as well—bright white and distorted red overtaking everything that not minutes earlier had felt so terribly real.
Etho’s hand flew to his chest, seeking the soulbond. For a split second, that familiar tug was there—the sense that somewhere ahead, somewhere out of sight, was Joel. The sense that maybe if Etho ran, he could find him. The sense that somewhere, his other half could feel him too.
And then Etho felt nothing.
Back in the laboratory, Etho’s eyes shot open—the hallucination crumbling to pieces and leaving him far, far too hyper aware of the world around him.
There was a deep, dark fury in Etho’s chest as he slowly pushed himself to his feet.
He had a friend to find. And until then? There was going to be hell to pay.