SolidarityGaming was shot by Skizzleman
<SolidarityGaming> wait
<SolidarityGaming> IM NOT DEAD??
<Smajor1995> Jimmy! I’m back at spawn, where are you?!
<Grian> what
<Grian> wasn’t that your last life tim?
<SolidarityGaming> i think so??
<Grian> thats weird
<Grian> pause while I try to fix it
Grian was shot by InTheLittleWood
<Grian> I SAID PAUSE
<InTheLittleWood> sorry my bad
<Grian> hang on
<Grian> try dying again
<Grian> tim
<Grian> ??
<Grian> Sure take your sweet time with it
SolidarityGaming drowned
<SolidarityGaming> sorry I couldn’t think of anything else!
<SolidarityGaming> but am alive again still
<InTheLittleWood> does this have something to do with THEM?
<Grian> i dont know but this is not good
<Grian> can anyone leave the server
<Grian> to check?
<impulseSV> nope :(
<ZombieCleo> No
<Renthedog> Didn’t you lock everything? I thought that was part of the game.
<Grian> sh*t
Ren trailed a finger along the wall as he walked, his cloak swishing against his legs. There had been a time when it reached the floor, sweeping over smooth wood and polished stone. Now the tattered ends barely brushed his fur-covered ankles, legs elongated with dull claws and large paw pads. They squelched through the mud and debris that coated the once-great hall.
His sensitive nose twitched at the scent of burnt wood and decay—every build in this world reeked of it. Too many fires and deaths and explosions to count.
Ren inhaled again, letting it wash over his tongue until he could pick apart each tone. The wet moss in the window frame. The mushrooms feeding off the leaf litter and damp wood. The lingering sulfur of a TNT trap that had blown a brand new hole in the wall.
And fresh blood. Some of it was his.
“My dude, are you taller?” Ren asked, axe out and shield up.
Jimmy blinked, his sword held loosely by his side like he wasn’t even going to try to protect himself. “I’m always tall?”
“No, like… taller than usual tall?” Ren took in the gaunt look of Jimmy’s face. His eyes were too big for his cheeks, his pupils large and dark—almost beady.
And was that a feather peeking through the hair behind his ears? It was too yellow to be from a chicken. Ren’s stomach felt too tight as his mind raced.
“Stop looking at me like that!” Jimmy bristled, raising a sword that looked too heavy for his thin wrists.
“Fight me, then—I challenge thee.” Ren’s voice dipped into the deep baritone of the Red King.
Jimmy tripped as Ren’s axe caught on his spine, slicing through his windpipe at a jagged angle. He dropped to his knees, hands coming up to clutch at the wound in his throat. Blood spurted from the severed arteries as Jimmy gurgled.
Ren took pity and finished the job, hacking through bone on the second swing and letting the head roll several feet away. It sat there, watching Ren with empty eyes until he forced himself to walk away and leave it to despawn.
Ren rolled his shoulders—tight from wielding his axe—before he paused by the gaping destruction in the wall and saw movement down the hill. Someone’s form was flickering. Pale, bare chest one second, then translucent like he’d glitched. Each time the figure glittered blue, almost like their cells had given up on existing in the present.
Scar .
Scar hadn’t joined the fight today, in fact, Ren couldn’t remember seeing him in over a month.
He wasn’t a threat; Ren pulled his gaze from the conman’s glitching form, eyes drawn to a splash of blood across the wall. It was still fresh, barely clotting together as he brushed a finger through it. Someone must have gotten caught in the TNT trap. Ren couldn’t muster the energy to worry about whose side it was from. The alliances were messy these days anyway—too many battles to really remember who was fighting for who and why.
Ren could feel the exhaustion in his bones as he stood back up, limbs sore and leaden. At least a respawn would have taken care of that, although each new death felt like a gamble—the odds stacking up against him as his body became less and less familiar.
Ren hated respawning. He could feel each bit of his code as it was ripped apart and pieced back together, injuries and broken flesh reforming in milliseconds.
The nausea swam in his stomach, eyes snapping open to reveal moonlight. Ren could see flames still raging in the distance as the Crastle burned. He clutched his arms to his chest, expecting to see blistered, burned flesh—his mind stuttering as it rationalized living again.
Except I should be dead.
It was one thing seeing Jimmy respawn.
It was another to come back a third time. Ren’s chest heaved as he struggled to take in a breath—he could still smell the smoke, like it was choking him. Everything was too sharp and too loud in his senses. The world felt washed out around him—even with the moonlight, it felt too bright. Shadows flickered in the trees and he heard monsters growl.
Ren struggled to his feet, his heart thundering against his ribs. His limbs felt wrong, like they were longer. Ren tripped over his feet as he turned to run—did he have too many joints?
Mobs lashed out at Ren as he crashed through the undergrowth, just trying to get away. Something in his mind screamed at him that if he could just keep running, that everything would be fine.
But the world border stopped him.
Ren smashed into the invisible barrier, yelping as he bit his tongue with too-sharp teeth. Blood pooled thick at the back of his throat and Ren’s legs betrayed him. He sank down into the dirt and leaf litter, pressing his cheek against the barrier.
He could still smell smoke—it felt like the whole world was burning.
Ren slammed a fist against the world border, choking on a sob as he spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Let us out,” he whimpered, his whole body trembling. “You can’t do this.”
Ren cast his gaze around the battlefield that his base had become, looking for his loyal hand in the aftermath. He hadn’t seen a death message, so Martyn must still be alive.
Inventories were scattered by the edge of the wall, items winking out of existence as they despawned. Ren could smell necrotic flesh before he spotted the arm, ripped from its body and discarded, skin a blueish-grey.
He turned on his heel and prowled deeper into the keep.
The enchanter no longer stirred as Ren walked past it, the symbols too worn and scratched to channel magic anymore. But Ren could still feel it—the code restless to respond to a player, yet unable to do so.
If he still counted as a player that is.
Nothing here was meant to last this long—Ten weeks maximum , Grian had promised them.
Ren’s fingers were still sticky with a stranger’s blood. On instinct, he tasted it—salt and iron sitting heavy on the back of his tongue. Ren regretted that he wasn’t familiar enough with his servermates to pick them apart by taste.
But Martyn probably was.
The first time Martyn ate a body in front of Ren was not the first time he’d consumed someone. There was something practised and methodical in the way he ripped the skin back and lapped at the exposed muscle.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Ren lifted a hand like he might pull Martyn back, but he didn’t touch him.
Martyn leaned back on his heels to meet Ren’s gaze, something sharp in his eyes. “It’d be a shame for it to go to waste, don’t you think?”
“But they’re our… friends.” The word felt wrong on his tongue—like maybe it didn’t apply anymore. The body was mangled enough that Ren couldn’t even tell who it had been.
“This?” Martyn lifted a forearm to his mouth and dug in his teeth, tearing off a mouthful and chewing it, blood smudging across his cheek. “This is just meat.”
“I cannot fault that logic,” Ren finally replied after a long pause, trying to keep his voice even.
“Taste?” Martyn offered, then shrugged as Ren shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
Ren considered saying something else, but sat down nearby instead, swallowing hard.
“Redstoners are bitter,” Martyn declared as he snapped a rib over his knee. Ren watched as his Hand sucked at the marrow before throwing it aside and wiping the back of his sleeve over his mouth.
“All of them?” Ren asked, watching the smear of blood across Martyn’s cheek.
“It’s not a bad bitter exactly,” Martyn scrunched up his face as he chewed on a nail, trying to get the gristle trapped under it. “But it kinda overpowers everything else—Etho’s the worst. I blame all the redstone exposure.”
“I see,” said Ren, even though he didn’t.
Ren continued deeper into Dogwarts. The broken roof tiles let in the only source of light, beams glinting off something bright in the corner of the room. As he got closer, Ren recognised it as Martyn’s blonde hair as the man crouched over something on the floor.
“Martyn?” Ren asked, voice soft as he approached.
Martyn jerked away at the sound, a hiss of discontent on his blood-stained lips. His blue eyes flashed with recognition and Martyn scrambled to his feet. “My Liege,” he choked over the words.
“Hush,” Ren raised a hand in a passive gesture, eyes dropping from Martyn’s to the body on the floor. Broken yellow feathers were stained with blood, the shadows jagged in the dark room, outlining the sharp shoulders and spindly limbs. The canary’s wings were spread wide in death—sickly-looking with patches of plumage missing.
“Caught him sneaking in through the back like a sad wet cat after all the explosions.” Martyn bent down to dig his fingers into the open wound on Jimmy’s abdomen. He tutted as he sifted through gristle and intestine with a soft, squelching noise. “Look at this—no flesh at all on this guy. I swear no one in this world is good to eat anymore.”
“Not even Scott? I thought you liked seafood.”
“Yeah, but I have to be in the mood .” Martyn crossed his arms.
“Is that a new thing?” Ren narrowed his eyes, leaning over the balcony and trying to get a better look at the river. Something dark was crouched at the silty bottom. Yellow feathers glittered as a creature more stick than man tried to creep closer to the shore.
Whatever was in the lake uncoiled and drifted closer to the surface, a fin jutting from the waves generated.
Etho sucked in a breath from Ren’s right side. “How many more deaths until he can’t breathe air anymore, do you think?” Ren hummed and turned to glance at Etho whose shadow was twisting at his legs, writhing independent from the slant of the sunlight.
“A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?” Impulse added as Jimmy’s wings flinched back from a spray of water. Impulse’s pupils were bright golden slits as he nudged Etho’s shoulder. “We could find out.”
Martyn leaned against Ren’s side, huffing out a breath as he did so.
“Is Dogwarts secure?” Ren let the words roll from his tongue in a deep gravel baritone—the accent from months ago was closer to his voice now than whatever ‘normal’ register he’d had before the game started. His vocal chords hated the higher tones now, more suited to growl than to sing.
Ren didn’t have time to mourn that.
Because mourning that would mean mourning everything, and he didn’t have the heart left for that much sorrow.
Martyn nodded. “No idea where Etho went. But Skizz died—his blood is gold now. Did you know that?” He chirped.
“Hmm.” Ren didn’t know how to feel about the fact. “Well, we’ll just have to wait for our brother-in-arms to respawn.”
“‘M hungry,” Martyn mumbled.
Ren lay a large hand on Martyn’s head, claws teasing at his hair and the tips of his pointed ears. “We could scavenge for leftovers—think I saw Cleo’s body outside.”
Martyn shook his head. “Their flesh is too necrotic for me.”
“How many times have you died?” Ren asked. It had been a while since he visited the gravestones at spawn—built sometime in the weeks after everything went wrong. They were the only thing around here that kept any track of time—the number of deaths etched deep into fourteen hunks of cobblestone.
“Not as many times as this loser.” Martyn went to kick Jimmy’s body, but it vanished under his feet as it finally despawned.
“You hate to see it.”
Martyn licked blood from his sharp teeth. “Maybe five? Six times?”
Ren stepped back to adjust his cloak which was pulling at his throat.
Bright feathers flashed as a figure dropped from above to descend on Martyn. The screech turned Ren’s blood cold as eyes upon eyes opened to pin him with a sharp, violet stare.
“Martyn!” Ren’s voice broke over the word as he lunged forward to swing at Grian with his bare claws.
Grian dropped to the ground, backing up as Martyn fell to his knees, an unfocused look in his eyes as blood dripped down his face from several deep puncture wounds through his skull.
Ren choked on the heat in his throat as he whirled towards Grian, a deep growl rising from his chest. “You.”
“You.” Grian’s voice was unbothered. “Forget about me, huh?”
“How could I,” Ren clenched his fists. “When this is all your FAULT. ”
It was like deja vu. How many times had he stood here, challenging Grian?
“Let us out of this hell,” Ren growled, not caring how deep his new claws sunk into flesh. He slammed the man against the rock again and Grian made a low, broken whimper as something crunched. “Do you hear me, you filthy scum?”
Grian’s chest heaved as his purple-stained feathers gave a weak thump against Ren’s shoulders. “I told you—I can’t.” He spat the last word, too-dark blood trickling down his chin.
“You can’t? Or you won’t?”
Grian said nothing, shutting his eyes. Or at least the eyes on his face—several opened on his wings, fixing Ren with wide lavender irises.
Ren scratched at them, clawing a handful of feathers free.
Grian screeched, thrashing in his arms. “You know I can’t—I’m just as stuck as you.”
“But these are your games.” Ren hesitated, just long enough for Grian to glance over his shoulder. Something cold burned in Ren’s shoulder and he stumbled as another arrow shaft sprouted from his back.
If Ren wasn’t so familiar with dying, he would have been confused by the lack of pain. But as it was, he just hissed in frustration as his knees buckled under him.
A cold hand gripped Ren’s chin, forcing his face up.
“I wish that was true...” Grian’s lips twisted into a smile that didn’t meet any of his eyes. He was holding something sharp against Ren’s throat and didn’t wait for a response before he slashed through his jugular.
Ren choked as blood flowed down into his lungs, letting himself fall back onto the sand as the darkness closed in around him. He watched as his life stained the sand red and waited for death to claim him.
“Why won’t you even try?” Ren growled, towering over the avian as he took a careful step forward.
“What makes you think I haven’t,” Grian spread his wings, the tips of his feathers brushing the roof beams.
Ren’s heart skipped a beat at the sudden influx of eyes, but he swallowed against the anxiety, pulling his axe from its place on his back and swinging forward with a shout.
Grian ducked under his arm, talons ripping into Ren’s arm and forcing him to drop the weapon. It made a sharp noise as metal hit stone.
Ren didn’t have patience for this. He seized Grian by the wing, fingers closing around bone and soft feathers.
The other wing hit Ren around the side of the head, making his ears ring, but he didn’t let go, his other hand sinking claws into Grian’s shoulder. He yanked in a firm, clean motion, tearing Grian’s wing half-off.
Grian screamed, going limp as his knees buckled.
Ren didn’t let go. “You can’t just leave us here,” he growled. “What about Scar? Or Jimmy? Or do you just not care?”
Grian’s mouth opened and closed as he gasped in a facsimile of a breath and Ren shook him, trying to force a real answer out of the man. Grian made a choked sound that turned into a laugh.
“What…” Ren tightened his grip, confusion tight in his stomach.
A purple-stained tear dripped down Grian’s cheek as he continued to laugh. “You think I want this?” His voice was too-high. “You think I’m enjoying this twisted death loop? This wasn’t supposed to happen. When I promised Them a show to bring out the monsters in all of us, I didn’t mean…” He hiccuped, body limp in Ren’s grasp. “Or maybe it was supposed to go like this—maybe these are the true versions of ourselves.”
Grian sighed and let his head fall back, exposing his throat like an offering.
Ren growled and unhinged his jaw, biting down on exposed skin and cartilage. Grian didn’t cry out as his throat was crushed, just let out a long wheeze of air. Bitter blood ran down Ren’s chin and sat thick on his tongue when he finally pulled back.
He threw Grian onto the ground where the avian continued to convulse, blood joining all the other stains on the floor.
Ren didn’t wait for him to die, just turned away to head to the bedroom. He had no energy left to feel anything—he would wait for Martyn.
A tall figure blocked his path, form flickering blue.
“Scar, my dude.” Ren dropped the king act to raise a hand in greeting, quickly placing the half-full bag of stolen sand into his inventory.
The figure in the desert turned towards him with a wide grin that was just a little sharp. “Ren! Why hello there—long time no see.”
“Finally figured out how to stand on the ground without falling through it?” Scar must have died over a hundred times now—so far removed from anything human that he barely interacted with the laws of the world anymore.
Scar waved a hand. “Oh, that—easy.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are the ears new?”
“Oh,” Ren reached up to touch a hand to the fluffy things growing out of his head. “Yeah—TNT trap from your… friend. Respawned and then I had these funky things.” The words were light, carefully chosen to not show any of the fear in Ren’s chest.
“Ah yes, Grian,” Scar glanced at a spot somewhere behind Ren. “He does love a TNT trap.”
Ren followed the gaze to see a figure perched on a cactus a good twenty meters away. Grian’s back was to them, but one large eye was still fixed on Ren, anyway. His heart gave a sharp thud against his ribs. Did he see me taking the sand? The eye didn’t blink.
“I hate when he does that—at least the rest of us have the decency to still pretend to be human most of the time!” Scar went to lean against a fence post, but passed through it completely, barely catching himself before he fell over.
Ren shook his head. “What was that you were saying about being human, my dude?” The words came out too tense to pass for a joke.
“I… Oh, shi—” Scar’s words were cut off as his form flickered and he sank into the earth, disappearing completely from view. A singular poppy bobbed where he’d been standing, the only suggestion that anything corporeal had been there.
There was movement from the cactus nearby as the eye watching Ren was rolled in disdain.
GoodTimeWithScar fell out of the world
“Scar…” Ren let out a long breath. “You’ve come to challenge the Red King too?”
Scar grinned with all his teeth, but shook his head. “Not today, my good fellow. I’m just…” His gaze dropped to the floor behind Ren where Grian was still choking. “Here to give support.”
“Why? You owe him nothing; he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.” The words came out more bitter than Ren expected.
Something dark flashed in Scar’s eyes, but he shrugged. “Maybe not, but you of all people should understand what one is willing to overlook in a friend.”
Ren stepped aside and watched as Scar dropped to his knees and took Grian’s hand in his. Scar brushed a tear from the avian’s cheek as his blood continued to stain the floor, chest heaving in a useless attempt to draw in a breath.
Ren shut his eyes and dragged himself away, heading deeper into the keep.
Martyn only took a few minutes before he appeared in the middle of the old mattress, gasping in air as he shot upright.
His blue eyes looked darker than before, ears a little pointer, teeth a little sharper. He looked around wildly before he spotted Ren.
“My loyal Hand,” Ren whispered as Martyn’s body heaved before he pulled his knees up his chest and hugged them to himself.
Ren moved slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, close but not touching.
“I’m scared, my Lord.” The confession was quiet, barely audible even with Ren’s sensitive ears.
Ren shifted on the mattress, turning towards his friend. Martyn’s eyes looked dull, their usual fire dampened. “What are you scared of, dude?” Ren asked. “Grian’s dead—we’re okay for now. There probably won’t be another fight today. We can rest—regather our strength for the coming brutality ahead—”
“Every death we change…” Martyn scrunched his eyes shut. “And I can’t help but think, how many until we cease to be ourselves? How much can we change before we just… aren’t us?”
“We’ll always be us.”
Martyn re-opened his eyes, a single tear tracing its way down his cheek. “Is that not worse?”
Ren brushed away the tear, glancing at the thick fur growing up the back of his hand. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
“I just keep thinking about everyone… outside. Did they notice when we didn’t come back? Do they miss us? What would they think if they could see us now—”
“Don’t,” Ren’s voice broke on the word. “Please… just don’t.” He didn’t have the energy.
Martyn fell silent. After a few moments his eyes strayed to Ren’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding, my Liege,” he said, fingers brushing the edges of the wound.
Ren’s ears flattened against his scalp at the sting, but didn’t pull away. “‘Tis but a scratch.”
Martyn glanced at Ren, searching his face for something. “This is all there is, isn’t it? We’re trapped, losing ourselves again and again for all of time.” His bottom lip wobbled and Ren carded a hand through the man’s bright hair, trying to soften the fear in his eyes.
“Is that so bad, to be stuck here with me, my dude?” Ren whispered. There was blood dripping down his wrist onto the bed, but he didn’t care.
Martyn’s eyes widened. “No!” The word was quick, urgent. “My Lord, I never meant to imply—”
Ren cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Martyn,” he said slowly. “We’ll be okay, because we embrace this—you and I, we laugh in the face of death.” He smiled, the earnesty in his voice making it tremble. “If we are all to become monsters, we will make sure to become the most dangerous beasts of them all.” Martyn’s brow furrowed and Ren angled the inside of his right wrist towards Martyn’s face, blood bright against his pale skin. “You still hungry, brother?”
Martyn’s eyes widened, tongue wetting his lips as he took Ren’s hand, eyes darting from his pulse point to his face. “Are you sure?”
Ren nodded, feeling his heart rate increase at the need in Martyn’s eyes. He didn’t flinch when Martyn’s sharp teeth bit deep into the skin, ripping a long strip of flesh from the inside of his arm.
Ren couldn’t look away as blood gathered at the edge of the wound, running down his wrist as Martyn chewed. His tongue caught it just before it dripped onto the bed, licking up Ren’s wrist and over the exposed flesh. Ren hissed in a breath, his next exhale long and shaky as he made himself be still.
“That’s it.” He brushed the hair from Martyn’s forehead with his other hand, voice deep and rough on his tongue as he leaned forward. His forehead rested on Martyn’s shoulder as the man took another bite, tendons snapping as his sharp teeth severed veins and ripped at muscle. “Eat your fill of me, Hand.”
Martyn made a sound almost like a purr and Ren laughed, a deep throaty chuckle as the pain raced down his arm, hot and bright and burning.
“Love me and eat,” Ren murmured into Martyn’s shirt, something else flaring fierce and warm in his heart.
