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wixelt · 3 years

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Snapshots (Hermitcraft: Scattered AU ficlet)

@hermitcraftheadcanons

(Short Hermit ficlet for the Scattered AU, while the AU is still relatively fresh. Wanted to play with untouched ideas, such as Biffa not having really featured (among others), as well as how Bdubs’ spawn would affect Etho, and the fact that xB was originally with Iskall rather than Cub, so I wondered how he ended up with Cub instead.

Also referenced a couple other people’s AU ficlets, for cohesion and funsies. Hopefully if you’ve been following Scattered, you’ll be able to spot them. :D)

Potential TW: Character death/respawn

In a distant region of the world, Biffa walked alone.

The beach on which he’d spawned was behind him, barely a memory in comparison to what lay ahead. The brief Drowned induced cycle of death and respawn still played in his mind, but he did his best to push the memory aside.

Something had gone wrong here. Barely a few weeks into this nightmare, and this much he already knew.

There was no regeneration. And no chat. Or rather, what remained of the chat was strange. Broken, even.

He tried not to think too much about the death announcements clogging up his visor like clockwork.

ImpulseSV was killed by Guardian using magic

Stressmonster101 drowned

Grian froze to death

GoodTimeWithScar fell out of the world

ImpulseSV was killed by Guardian using magic

Keralis tried to swim in lava

Xisuma starved to death

TinFoilChef was slain by Ender Dragon

ImpulseSV was killed by Guardian using magic

This… This was difficult to find a silver lining in.

He had to soldier on, though. This much he knew. The Hermits had always been stronger together, with or without him. This, though, needed to be a with situation, if possible.

He made a promise, that he would see them all again. That they would find a way out of this, together, no matter how long it took.

Please… Everyone. Just hold out as long as you can.

Idly, he glanced away from the open plains he was crossing, looking down to check his compass. After a second, the world coordinates flashed up in his vision.

-2038938, 65, 4759493

It was a long, long way to spawn, and Biffa had no way of knowing if he was even the furthest out.

He hoped he was the furthest out.

***

In a distant woodland mansion, in a back room graciously provided to him by his finally non-hostile hosts, Mumbo Jumbo – the only Hermit further out in the Overworld than Biffa – pondered over some blueprints of his own design, brow furrowed in annoyance. The pulse extender in his communication relay had blown again, and he still didn’t know why.

He was going to make this work. He had to.

Grian and Iskall would never let it go if he just gave up.

***

In a slightly smaller coordinate, amidst the churning sands of an unforgiving desert, two men stood. They shook hands as they prepared to part ways, each having a different goal in mind.

xB had spied the mesas dotting the edge of the desert in the direction of spawn. There’d been noises from them at night. Noises that sounded – at least to him – like the echoes of player activity. Iskall didn’t believe him, but he was convinced he’d find another Hermit there.

Only miles away, in a mesa swaddled valley, Cub worked through the night to build his Nether Portal, yet unaware it would connect to another’s.

Iskall, meanwhile, turned his gaze outward, in the exact opposite direction to spawn. Call it a hunch, or perhaps – with wishful thinking – distorted signals picked up by his malfunctioning implant, but he knew there were other Hermits out there.

He didn’t know it yet, but it would be around a year before he saw anyone else again – too far from his spawnpoint for Etho to locate him. If he knew that in the present, would he make a different decision – leaving Mumbo all alone – or would he make the same sacrifice to salvage his friend’s sanity?

***

Etho pitied whoever had been spawning in the darkness of the void. He’d been here for several hours and he was already utterly sick of the oppressive darkness and blistering wind – only broken up by the occasional End island shooting past as a vague outline in the distant fog.

To think, one of his friends was being forced to endure this on repeat. He dreaded to imagine what that was doing to their mental state.

He thought he heard them, now and then, screaming in the distance. It sounded like Bdubs to him, but it was too distant to tell. Maybe one day, if they survived this, he’d have the chance to ask.

This was the last thought to cross Etho’s mind as he succumbed to the emptiness. Hopefully, next time around, he’d be able to contact somebody and tell them where Impulse was…

***

Bdubs couldn’t even cry anymore.

His body felt flimsy, weakened by the choking clutch of the void, the seemingly gravityless descent, and the wind burning past him. His hands were blackened, frozen with frostbite.

Or voidbite.

Not that he really cared anymore.

He just wanted it to end.

It never did.

And even when it did, it didn’t. Not really.

***

Fingers shaking, Scar held the elytra tentatively in his hands as if it were made of brittle glass, a thin smile of relief crossing his otherwise cold features as he brushed his fingers over the taught feathers.

He’d done it. He was free and had a means of getting out of this place.

He swore he’d never return once he left. Not ever.

And yet… he knew the truth. He knew he’d be back here, in time.

To escape that damned, lone island, he had given in. He’d let the Vex into his soul once more, and he knew it would cost him dearly in the long run. The Vex mask hung on his belt like some cosmic weight, dragging him down… waiting for the time when he would inevitably don it again.

He only hoped he could find Cub and fix this before there wasn’t anything of Scar left to save.

…or perhaps, he considered with a glance to his paled hands, it was already too late for that.

That’s what the voices said, at least.

“…sssscccAAARRRRR!”

*crack*

Scar blinked in surprise, roused from the strings of the Vex as a person shaped blur dropped in front of him, impacting the end stone with a painful sound, face a mix of terror and surprise before it vanished in a flash of red and a plume of smoke.

The former mayor stared at the now empty ground for what felt like an eternity. He was numb, at first, but soon he felt a small glimmer of hope sprout in his soul.

It began to burn anew as his mind processed the face he’d seen.

“…Bdubs?”

***

TFC was not having a good time.

Decades gone was the young champion who could go toe to toe with the Ender Dragon any day of the week. He’d retired from a more active lifestyle for a reason, after all.

So being trapped in the End – stomped on every few minutes – was hardly ideal.

His life of experience – if nothing else – had made him a patient man, though.

He knew the other Hermits – some better than others, admittedly – and he knew that they’d all find their way out their own death-traps sooner or later, even if they needed a little help. They were resourceful like that.

All he had to do was wait. And have a little faith too, perhaps. That never hurt.

The Ender Dragon seemed pretty pissed that he kept coming back – his calm smirk only serving to anger it further – so at least he had that.

***

Screaming gale and lashing torrents of snow reared against the figure as he stepped off the porch and out into the relatively open air of the ravine. Even in this shaded spot, the weather was eternally fierce and angry. From his own experience of his spawnpoint – not far from here – Doc knew it was going to be worse up on the mountaintop.

But there was someone counting on him. He wouldn’t let them down.

“Now you be careful up there, alright?”

Doc turned at the voice, watching as Ren staggered to the doorway of the hastily constructed cabin, managing a smile. The dog man had recovered from his injuries in leaps and bounds since Doc had discovered both him and his hiding spot only a few days ago, but there was still a slight limp in his step, and the marks born from his struggles had yet to fully heal.

There was a reason Doc was making this trip alone.

“I will.” The cyborg nodded. “I won’t let them down.”

“I’ll get the fire ready for when you bring ‘em back.” Ren hummed, glancing up at the top of the ravine, frowning deeply. “They’re gonna need it.”

They’d both heard the screams echoing from above, both before and after they’d encountered one another. There’d been many confused moments of “Wait, that wasn’t you?”, before the obvious task at hand was made clear, and both thought to unmute the chat log, having muted it due to the endless alerts from Impulse’s depressing situation.

Now, more than ever, they knew they had to act.

Doc wasn’t going to leave Grian alone on that mountain for any longer than he had to.

***

He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that had happened – his mind was a blur of pain and numbed senses, now – but where once the feeling would return whenever he succumbed and respawned, there was now only nothing. It was as if his body had learnt not to waste the effort warming his extremities.

He didn’t have thoughts to spare on that sort of thing anymore, though.

Far behind him were thoughts about how he’d ended up in this situation.

Far behind him were the worries as he saw the names of his friends flood the chat alongside his own – one death after another – like some dark flood of horror.

Far behind him was the man who would’ve cracked a joke about his condition, then tried to find a way out.

Far behind him was the man who’d had any hope of getting off this mountain top.

Grian hardly felt anything anymore. Nothing but the despair and hopelessness of his situation.

No-one was coming for him, he knew. If he couldn’t get down, how would anyone hope to get up?

Limbs frozen. Wings a burden. All alone.

Grian let out a choked sob…

…before being consumed by the ice and snow yet again.

***

All things considered, Xisuma’s situation had improved considerably since things had begun, though that wasn’t saying much.

He was still stuck in the depths of the Overworld, for example, devoid of any sunlight.

But compared to being hunted through dark, shulker infested caverns by a Warden, a lush cave was a pleasant step up. He tried not to think about the jagged tunnels that lay behind him, hewn by his fists and stained with his blood and tears.

He was no longer alone.

Axolotls aside, Jevin was here.

Or rather, he was mostly here.

Their reunion had shown Xisuma – to his dismay – that one of his worst fears for the situation had come to pass. With his non-access to world commands, certain… traits were reasserting themselves.

The moment Jevin had laid eyes on Xisuma – emerging from the dark of his tunnel – he’d seemed so happy…

…and then Jevin had killed him.

The dying memory of Jevin’s horrified features as the revelation of what he’d done on instinct set in was burned into X’s memory. When he’d next returned, he’d assured a terrified Jevin that he didn’t blame him, but the slime man was slipping, and both of them knew it.

The fact that he occasionally split into smaller versions of himself was tame by comparison – relatively easy to recover from given enough time – but it was still taking a psychological toll. Every time Jevin pulled himself together again, he seemed more frantic, more desperate.

And more than that, there seemed to be less of him.

He’d only forgotten small things so far, but it was clear that his sapience was leaking out without command lines to reinforce it.

And, Xisuma feared, if this was happening to Jevin, what of the others? Doc, Cleo…

It galvanised Xisuma into pushing to get to the surface, but his fear never once abated.

As admin he was supposed to prevent things like this, and yet here he was. As helpless as anyone else…

***

Ex had seen nothing but bedrock as far as the red, oppressive fog would allow him for the past few weeks.

He… had no context for this.

The self-proclaimed “Evil” Xisuma had been trapped in many places – some more pleasant than others – but the roof of the Nether was a first. It didn’t seem as if it would be especially effective.

Which meant this was either his brother’s idea of a joke, or something was very, very wrong.

When the avalanche of death messages had come in, his suspicions had been confirmed as to the latter.

…but there wasn’t much to be done.

Aside from starve to death over and over again, at least.

Bedrock was unbreakable here, even for him. Even with the sudden and brief apparition of the one called Etho to give some much-needed context, he had little to work with here.

For the first time in a long time, Ex felt genuinely helpless.

***

On a faraway coastline, two young women sat nestled around a fire, resting for the night. They had already plotted out the route they would take tomorrow, mostly as they’d already walked it once before, so had little to discuss.

Not when both were physically and emotionally exhausted.

On one side of the flames, False lay back against the body of her resting horse, muscles aching from days of saddle-less travel back to the coastline. Her eyelids flickered; the warrior barely able to stay awake.

She forced herself to remain in the waking world, however. Opposite her, Stress sat calmly, less energetic than she normally was. Though she’d mostly recovered from shock, she still shivered now and then. Her smiles and laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she kept making nervous glances out to the coral reefs set just off from the shore.

Their spawnpoint.

It hadn’t been so bad the first time. They’d been mostly focused on getting each other out, and then on the apparent calamity that had befallen the server. What were a couple of glitch induced deaths alongside all of that?

It had taken several weeks of exploration and watching Stress freeze to death falling into a bluff of powdered snow for the true horror of the constant death messages in chat to feel real.

Stress had been trapped in bindings of coral for days – drowning over and over again – before False had made it back to rescue her.

Even hours later, by the warmth of a fire, False was still shaken. They both were.

She feared that if she closed her eyes for too long, she’d open them to find her friend had disappeared.

They’d recover, she knew this. False considered herself strong, and despite the flower girl not having as refined a prowess in combat, Stress was even stronger. She’d endured days of that torture and hadn’t crumbled in her hope, after all. But that taste of what Impulse may have been experiencing – not to forget Cleo or Grian – had unsettled them both.

And if False felt like this, she couldn’t imagine what was going through Stress’ head.

The brunette caught her frowning across the campfire, and gave her another smile, a repeated insistence that she was fine. That she wasn’t going anywhere.

False wished she could believe it, in such uncertain times.

Time and time again, she had faced down monsters and players alike. She’d done it without fear, too, pushing on without hesitation.

But False Symmetry wasn’t so proud she’d deny the truth.

Right now, she was scared.

***

The torture hadn’t ended when the villagers called off their iron golem in killing her repeatedly. For Cleo, it had merely brought another problem into the light.

She was slipping.

She’d noticed it the moment the golem had stood down, and despite her battered and broken form, she’d managed to gaze at one of her attackers. The one who’d told their mechanical protector stop…

…and a burning, primal hunger momentarily took hold of her thoughts.

She locked herself away, after that, hiding out in a house (or was it a church? She’d been so panicked she hadn’t stopped to check), where the temptation wouldn’t sit there, right in front of her nose, taunting her with its… its brains…

…brains…

No!

Cleo whimpered in her darkened hiding place. Out of view of the sun, her eyes flickered with a red glare, seeming hollow and sunken.

She couldn’t go on like this.

X, please… Do something…

But nobody heard.

***

Hell. Literal hell.

Keralis had thought – hoped – that a Nether fortress would be where he’d find the others. With regen a thing of the past, they’d need to gather materials for potions… right?

At least, it had seemed logical at the time.

And yet here Keralis was. A free spirit who had raised entire cities from nothing with nothing but his own determination… hiding in a closed off corridor, behind a cobble wall, a screaming horde of blazes and wither skeletons bearing down on the other side. Already, his clothing was singed, and scratches and cuts riddled his form. He hadn’t gotten to where he was cleanly.

There hadn’t even been a portal to fuel his escape.

It was enough to make even the most fearless of players turn pale.

He couldn’t go back to nothing again. He just couldn’t. He might never find his way back here.

He might never find anyone.

…

If Falsie were here, she’d cut right through them. No problemo.

And if it were Shishwammy, he’d…

Well, Keralis supposed, if Shishwammy did have access to his powers, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

So here he was, alone and afraid, having spent days – or what he assumed were days – trapped behind this wall, the forces on the other side never tiring or relenting.

As he had been since this all started, Keralis remained utterly terrified.

***

(Was going to write more entries for all the other Hermits known to be trapped in this AU, which I think within the timeframe here would at least be Joe and Beef at spawn, Hypno either at or near spawn as well, Python in a Nether bastion, Wels and Hels also in the Nether, Tango and Zed in the jungle, Jessassin in a mesa somewhere, and Impulse – who I was going to close with – in his ocean temple of hell. My creativity’s run dry for the time being, though, so this will do just fine. I’ve got an infographic to work on, after all. :P

Hope you enjoyed! :D)

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writing-the-end · 3 years

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LoL Chapter 51- Fallen Angel

(Sorry this is late! i got my vaccine and it mcfucking knocked me out lol)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits return to Eremita from a restocking trip, to discover they have been raided. And one hermit has been taken.

Warning: Capture, slight torture scene

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Eremita has become their safe haven, the last bastion for the guild. Even when the arcane guard chased them all the way to the water’s edge, no sane person would dare follow the hermits into the Ashioll sea. Which is exactly why they lived in its mysterious, misty embrace.

They could no longer simply fly off upon the backs of sky turtles, or even teleport into the towns they frequented. Now, when the hermits absolutely had to go into public for supplies they couldn’t make or grow themselves, they sailed in on Cleo’s pirate ship. And when they had to leave, they made sure that if anyone was following them, they took a roundabout direction back to their home. It adds time, weaving between the islands and through the mists, but ensures no one can guess where they live.

Cleo’s pirate ship beaches up onto the sand, nestling back into place as a wrecked vessel once more. The dream magic fades, revealing broken oak boards, seagrass growing through seams, and splintered masts of the ghost ship Cleo commands. Hypno blinks free from his sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Already? Man, my dream was just starting to get interesting.”

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies.

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends.

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?”

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.”

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.”

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in.

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?”

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo.

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz.

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope.

Only two. “Where’s Grian?”

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?”

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.”

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A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this.

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw.

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him.

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice.

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place.

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely.

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms.

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them.

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic.

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box in his hand upon seeing the sight before him.

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out.

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.”

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes.

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!”

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?”

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.”

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive.

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face.

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?”

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in.

And slowly, agonizingly stealing his magic. So intrinsically tied to his soul, hsi lifeforce, it feels as if his very being is being dragged from every inch of his body in contact with the crystal. He writhes to escape the painful magic, but the bonds hold firm and he struggles to catch his breath. Dolios steps back, basking with ravished delight at the scene before him. Enjoying the pain that tears at Grian’s skin, soul, and spell. “Now the magic will soon be mine.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard cleo #wizard zedaph #wizard mumbo #grianmc #grian #zombiecleo #zedaph #mumbo jumbo

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zallano · 5 years

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The HereAfter, Chapter 17

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, read on AO3!

The entire chapter is under the cut.

Mumbo opened his eyes.

He remembered that day clearly. He fully understood now.

The Blue Clock took his memory. Before all he remembered was falling from his house and respawning back at spawn with a jacket, being a lot taller- being older- and the disappointment he faced once he found that his stuff despawned once he arrived at his house. Though, now he realized that when he fell off his house for the first time, he was brought into the future. He spent six years in the future and forgot all about it.

Mumbo ran a hand through his hair. His thoughts were racing. He remembered what machine he was trying to build. He remembered exactly how he built it as well. He could build it again. He could properly finish it without any interruptions.

He could get the other hermits back.

Mumbo slid off his bed and stood up. He had no time to waste.

——

Grian woke up in a cold sweat. He had another flashback-like dream.

His cheeks felt warm and wet. His eyes felt dry. His dream wasn’t even all that bad.

He swung his legs over the side of his bed and slid off, standing up. He stretched and glanced up through the center of his base. He felt himself shiver slightly. He could see the overcast from where he stood. The morning was very melancholic.

Grian wanted to flop back down onto his bed. He didn’t feel like doing anything at all. Though he, in reality, he knew that he had projects to work on.

Though, before he was able to set off and begin working, a message flashed across his vision.

MumboJumbo: Hello everyone. I would like to meet up with anyone who can make it to the shopping district. It’s about the disappearing hermits.

Grian watched as hermits began to reply that they’ll be there. He joined them, sending a simple ‘Ok’ and then went to get a couple more rockets before heading out. He took a lot longer than usual. He didn’t understand why he felt so tired, weak, and sad.

Mumbo stood on top of a log, he waited for the others to show up. All the time he waited, Mumbo fiddled with this necklace and pulled at the string. His dark navy blue hair fell in front of his eyes.

“What happened? What do you know about the disappearances?” Xisuma asked, walking up toward Mumbo. Mumbo glanced up. “I’ll tell you when the others arrive,” he told him. Xisuma nodded once and sat down on his log.

Soon, other hermits began to show up. Grian avoided Mumbo’s gaze for whatever reason, though the others looked at him with interest and mild fear for what they might hear. Mumbo sighed. “As you all know, I am from the past, Grian is from the future.” He explained. The other hermits nodded.

“Although, ever since Grian and I blacked out due to the exposure to the Blue Clock, I’ve been having certain memories... More like flashbacks.” He went on. A few hermits exchanged concerned glances. “Nothing bad! It’s just come to my realization that my reality isn't as black and white as I thought it was in the first place. I thought I was just from the past and this was just the future. Though, I learned that I came to the future before, a long time ago. I stayed in the future for a couple of years and then was brought back to my world due to a freak accident. What I’m saying here is that the hermits that left may not be dead, but instead lost in time… and I think I know how to bring them back.”

Everyone stared at him, a few looked at him in disbelief. Most hermits just assumed the others died permanently and them leaving the world was a way to say that they were never coming back. Now, Mumbo was saying things that some didn’t even believe was possible. “How? Are you going to build a time machine or something?” Doc asked.

“Er- no- not exactly- well- When I was in the future for the first time, I was in a world of redstone, I learned how redstone worked with some of the best redstoners I know- or knew- and in this world, we had the Blue Clock under control, though, we never used it. The redstoners only used it to bring me into their world and after that, they tried exiling the clock out of their world. They tried dropping it into the void, though it didn’t work, it came back to them, so instead, they surrounded it obsidian in walls and pretended it never existed.”

Mumbo paused, he glanced down at his hands. His yellow gloves he never used to have. His dark blue jacket. He remembered when he got the original jacket... He glanced back up, changing gazes with everyone once more. The other hermit’s stayed quiet, listening to his words. “We weren’t allowed to go near the blue clock and we weren’t allowed to mess with time. Those were two of the most important rules. Though, I was obsessed with the idea of time and the idea of the blue clock. I wanted to control the blue clock for myself. I wanted to control time and bend it at my will. I wanted to understand it and I wanted to go even further into the future. I wanted to prove myself to be a good redstoner to the others. I thought that if I found a new way to control the clock myself, that I would finally be seen as a good redstoner.”

“What did you do?” Joe asked. “I took the clock and I built a redstone machine that was designed specifically to control the clock and allow it to take not only me through time, but others as well. Unfortunately, what I built wasn't allowed and I got in trouble. Something.. happened.. that led to the machine breaking before I was able to finish it and I got brought back into the past unwillingly. Though, I think I might be able to recreate my machine... I think if I make it we can bring back the missing Hermits.” Mumbo stated. Grian hummed. “So.. you are going to build a time machine.” He reiterated. Mumbo chuckled slightly. “Well, I guess I am then.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you all, I wanted you all to know what has been happening,”

“You said that it broke and brought you through time unwillingly. So.. it’s dangerous? I don’t want anyone else leaving this world.” Impulse chimed in. A few hermits nodded, some glanced at the floor. “Well, I say you should build it... Sure it’s dangerous, but sure is a lot of other things we do. There’s a possibility we can bring back the hermits that left. Wouldn't you want the others back? Wouldn’t you want Tango back?” Cub asked. “I just don’t want to take any chances.” Impulse stepped back slightly.

“We don’t have many chances to take anyway!” Zedaph pointed out. “What else are we going to do? Wait around until they just show up again? It’s been weeks, Impulse!” He continued. “I know- but what if something goes wrong and we end up losing someone else!” Impulse stated. “Look, you don’t have to agree with me building this machine or not, I just think it’s the best shot we have at bringing everyone back. It’s been hard, I know it has.” Mumbo sighed. Impulse didn’t reply and Zedaph nodded in agreement.

“Let’s take a vote. I vote you build the machine. Whoever else agrees, raise their hand.” False said. Most of the hermits rose their hands without hesitation, others waited and watched to see the majority of the vote before voting themselves. Impulse sighed before eventually raising his hand. “I guess it’s been decided then,” Mumbo stated. “I’ll get to work immediately. I know we want them back as soon as possible. We don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

“Is there any way I could help?” Iskall asked. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” He continued. “Can I help too? I’m not good at redstone but I would like to help in any way I can,” He said. Mumbo noticed Grian had a faltering smile, almost a fake or worried smile. Most -if not all- the hermits had the same expression. Mumbo nodded and smiled slightly. “Yeah, you two can help. I’m going to build it underground in case something does go wrong. I don’t want it exploding or anything.” He told the others.

“Good luck, man,” Ren said. “If you need anything, just let me know.” He said and the others agreed. “Same with me,” Zedaph, Cleo, and Doc said in unison.

“One last thing,” Mumbo began. The others turned to look at him before heading off.

“If you see a random clock in the world that you did not craft, do not touch it.”

#got any theories or questions? i wanna know!#The Hereafter #hereafter au #mumbo jumbo #grian #minecraft #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #w0ah writes

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whycraft · 5 years

Text

The Three Body Problem: Chapter 5

A/N: 16 days til I come home!

Despite the lack of flight course, Poultry Man and the Watcher had several opportunities for flight lessons. The Watcher was the one who came up with the idea to fight phantoms while flying during the phantom hunt. Both Poultry Man and Grian had improved leaps and bounds in their flying ability, although whether it was because of the Watcher’s tutelage or sheer survival instinct was under question.

It was becoming a familiar occurrence for the other hermits - usually the ones who weren’t participating in the contest themselves - to watch Grian battle phantoms in the sky, silhouetted by the moon. If he hadn’t noticed them, they might have heard him talking to himself, and if they had known any better, they would have realised it wasn’t actually Grian doing most of the fighting.

As fun as it may have been for all three of them, Cub was still hundreds of kills ahead, and they did really want to win. Poultry Man suggested using the other hermits to spawn in more phantoms to kill. Grian was all for it, but the Watcher had some hangups.

What if they stop being AFK while me or Poult is in control and realises you aren’t you?

“It’s really unlikely that they’ll stop being AFK before we wake them up, but even if they do, I can just take control again. And if I can’t for some reason, you can do a pretty good impression of me. Heck, if you’re nervous, just hand over control to Poult and they’ll chalk it up to me being silly.”

The Watcher sighed. You’re right, I’m being silly. Alright, let’s go win this contest.

—————-

They didn’t win the phantom hunt, but a new opportunity for victory was on the horizon. It started small: a prank here, a sign change there, but it quickly blossomed into a full-blown prank war. More than that - a civil war. They split into teams, unofficially and then officially: Team 1 was Grian, Tango, Iskall, Jevin, Stress, Cleo, and Joe, and Team 2 was Doc, Wels, Impulse, False, Xisuma, and Ren. Team 1 had dubbed themselves the G-Team, Team 2 was still deciding.

The foundations for the G-Team base went up almost overnight. Grian may not have been hunting phantoms any more, but he slept so little he might as well have been. He did have almost an entire base to show for it, thought; it was a beautiful build, mostly made of white concrete and cyan terracotta.

It may not be bedrock, said the Watcher, but white concrete is gorgeous, I’ll give it that.

“Wish it wasn’t so heavy, though,” Grian grunted. He was struggling to fly with so many stacks of it in his inventory.

Fair enough.

guys, can we stop building for a while? i’m bored.

“Maybe we can take a break in a couple hours; I promised Iskall I’d finish this tower.”

ugh. i’m going AFK. wake me up when you decide to stop being boring.

When he finally finished building, it was several days later. He had slept a bit, but only quick naps. He felt a bit bad. Poultry Man had stayed AFK the whole time, and the Watcher had joined him for several short stints when he got bored as well.

Wake up, guys!

Slowly, Poultry Man’s and the Watcher’s presences filled his head.

are you finally done?

Yep! Listen, I know it took way longer than I said it would, and I’m really sorry I made you guys wait for so long. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

It honestly wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to do anything for us.

we could throw eggs at someone!

Grian got a brilliant plan. Actually, I think I’ve got a better idea...

Several hours later, they got a message on their communicator from Mumbo. “someone seems to have built a chicken launcher in my snowball bumbo… any idea who it was?” A few seconds later, they got another one: “looks suspiciously like a grian design”

“It wasn’t me, it was the man in the chicken costume!”

#grian #grianmc #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft #evo #minecraft evo #minecraft evolution #watcher!grian #watcher grian #poultry man #minecraft fic #ttbp #whycraft writes #my post

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