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hermits-that-craft · 4 years

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Chapter 50 - Arc 2 - Two Deaths In The Server, Reprise

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509375/chapters/63621574 TW - DEATH, BLOOD, TORTURE, SCREAMING

“Scar is here.” Princess’ voice is strained, her body shaking as a bruise blooms on her cheek.

“Yes. The mage came.”

“You said-” Princess’ voice shakes, two voices saying the same thing at the same time, one deep and unsettling and the other far too high pitched to be natural. “You said you would leave him alone!”

“Princess, get a hold of yourself.” Night snaps, anger mixing with tiredness as they struggle not to lash out at her again. “He came out of his own free will. He can suffer the consequences. I have not done anything to him.”

“You knocked him out.”

“He committed regicide. You know what the difference between your father and King Silas is, Stress?” Night growls, Stress flinching away from the angry god. “Your father wasn’t murdered by his son.”

---

Impulse doesn’t struggle in Night’s arms as Night drags them to a small cell, the smell of blood trading for the smell of mildew and mold. The cuts on his back sting and tears well up in his eyes, trying desperately not to cry.

He thinks of Tango, of Zedaph. They’re both safe. The trade was equal, his freedom for theirs. It still hurts, Void it still hurts. He would give almost anything to leave, to feel safe, to feel whole again. To see the crinkles in Tango’s eyes when he smiles or the way Zedaph’s shoulders shake when he tries to hide that he’s laughing. He’d do anything to see them again, to be able to hold them, to be able to be held. To see someone not hurting - not hurting him. To see a face without rage.

Impulse saves his strength. He doesn’t struggle like he knows Ren did, like he could hear False doing. He lets Night drag him to a room, to a cell containing Scar, who flinches away from Night though he cannot move away. Night drops Impulse on the floor, walking out of the room.

Scar tries to walk to Impulse, the large metal squares forcing Scar to stay in one place, unable to move. He struggles, and Impulse can see the flashes of bright blue and gold magic in his eyes, the smell of electricity and fire fills the room, but nothing happens. A cut rests on Scar’s face, dangerously close to his left eye. The burn on Scar’s shoulder is bleeding, cut open by someone cruel, possibly Night or

Stress wouldn’t, would she?

Scar’s shoulders shake, his eyes filled with guilt. He mumbles something, an apology to someone Impulse can't see. An apology to someone lost. Someone who could come back, but likely won’t. Doc won’t come back himself, and neither will Ren. Even if they are freed, even if Night is killed and gone forever, they won’t come back themselves. No one will leave this place, this base, the same. Not Impulse, not Scar, not False, not Stress, not Mumbo. No one will leave this place the same.

But they will leave this place.

Impulse stands, his legs shaking, and he forces himself to walk over to Scar, pulling a small hairpin out of his hair, focusing on the lock on Scar’s handcuffs. He forces the lock open, spending too long on the lock. Night could find them. Night could come back.

“We need to hurry, can you do that magic thing you did back there?”

“I don’t know how to. I lost control.” Scar looks at the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is all my fault if it wasn’t for me none of this wold have happened.”

“Scar, you didn’t invite Night here.” Impulse pulls the mage into a hug, smiling kindly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“If I was the one who died instead of Silas, Doc would still be Doc.” Scar mumbles to himself.

“Don’t you dare say anything like that ever again.” Impulse says, taking Scar by the shoulders. “Silas was a bastard, one who doesn’t deserve to have his name spoken again. We’re getting out. We’re leaving right now, and you and I are going to get everyone out, Scar. I swear it. We’re going to be okay.”

Scar nods, watching Impulse with wide eyes as Impulse rips some of his shirt off, wrapping it around his fists before he punches at the door, breaking the wood just outside the door handle. Impulse opens the door through the hole, offering his hand to Scar. Scar takes his hand, and with a squeeze of their hands the two men run.

They run through the endless halls and rooms, past dead ends and screams. They stumble over the wreckage that Scar left after he grew vines in the room. Scar’s lungs scream and beg for a pause, and Impulse’s legs burn as though they were dunked into lava, but the two men don’t stop, they can’t stop, fleeing from the room, from Night, from pain. To pause is to die, to run is to live.

Scar stops, making eye contact with Observer as they near the door. The fake Mumbo glares at them, picking up a sword and Impulse pulls Scar through the door, his legs and lungs screaming.

The two men flee through the jungle, fear gripping at their hearts. They will die here if they are caught.

And they won’t come back.

---

Iskall watches as everyone comes into the main room, everyone yawning and bleary eyed, though none more than Grian, Builder and Rose. Builder sits down, putting his head into his arms and shutting his eyes. Grian stands in a corner, his eyes watching the door like a hawk, though he relaxes more as the door shuts behind Xisuma. Rose sits by a window, staring out into the distance, twisting her wedding ring around her finger as one hand rests on her stomach. Iskall almost envies her - her wife is dead, at least she knows that Protector isn’t going to hurt anymore.

He wishes he could say the same about Stress. He wishes that Stress had the freedom of death, because then he would know that his girlfriend isn’t hurting - isn’t in pain.

Cub brings a bowl of soup to Rose as Cleo, Bdubs, Etho and Keralis try to make a plan, Wels flinching everytime the gesture towards him. Etho gestures to Iskall a few times, saying something about him needing to get used to his new arm before he can fight.

Iskall agrees, though he wont say anything about it. He won’t admit that he’s punched things, broken cups and bowls trying to get used to how the arm works.

Etho said his arm doesn’t hurt anymore, which is a plus.

Iskall taps his foot, the plan frustrating him more by the minute. Storming Night’s base? Giving Mumbo the opportunity to trap it, with the help of Beef? Not a chance, not if the hermits want to win. It irks him, it’s too risky. They might free some hermits, but the losses will be huge, and Night can permakill. It doesn’t matter how much favour Cleo has with Amari - Hermits will die because of this plan.

Iskall stands up, his chair scratching against the wooden floor. Heads snap towards him, surprise written on everyone’s faces.

“This plan isn’t going to work and too many people will die because of it.” Iskall says plainly, a monotone voice falling out of his lips. “Don’t bother protesting - Let me give you some advice I learnt from being an assassin. Lure your victims out. Don’t walk into a trap.”

“Well, do you have a plan?” Cleo looks at him hopefully, “Cause I’m up for suggestions.”

“The saying is down for suggestions, Cleo.” Joe puts in kindly.

“We trap the nether out of the shopping district. Everyone prepares to fight, no matter how skilled they are at fighting. Anyone with admin history at all needs to reset everyone’s spawn to the spawn island. A small party - maximum three people, goes to free the captured. The rest of us fight. The rest of us prepare. Anyone with allies off of the server invites them in. Builder, are there any other gods that could help us?”

Builder blinks a few times, shocked that he was called on. “Amari, Althea and Ella could help out.”

“Amari I know, but Althea and Ella?”

“You know how the jungle has a god?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Bdubs snaps, glaring at Builder. “I’m not going through that again.”

“No, you aren’t. Althea is the mushroom island goddess, Ella is her twin, the mushroom plains goddess. They’re both my daughters.”

“Grian isn’t our only cousin on your side?” Evil Xisuma asks quietly, and surprise flashes in Builder’s eyes.

“You’re the missing sons?” Builder mumbles, but before anything can be done, a buzz echoes through the room, people’s faces turning white. No one wants to read it, no one wants to see if they’ve lost someone.

Iskall sets his jaw, taking a deep breath in. He picks up his communicator, ready to read it.

TheNight sent (2) attachment(s) TheNight: I’ve heard about the nHo TheNight: Pity you have to lose two more to the jungle. You all know the consequences of running now.

Iskall’s eyes wander over the attachments, bile rising in his throat. He shakily sits down, handing his communicator to Cleo. He hears her screams through panicked thoughts, he barely hears the other hermits shouting, barely see’s Grian’s eyes flash red or Zedaph crying in Tango’s arms. The images won’t leave his mind.

Impulse and Scar, lying in a thick, bloodied copse vines. Their backs torn open, ribcage exposed. The bones aren’t pure white, stained a light pink with the blood. Their bodies are magles, vines tearing Scar’s arms from his torso and strangling him. Their bodies - because Iskall can’t imagine that the two men are still alive - are coated in blood and dirt. Bones stick through Impulse’s leg, a vine exiting the back of his head.

Iskall is going to kill Night.

#the night au #the night #stressmonster101 #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #iskall85

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