#anyway maybe this will get a sequel one day with the actual wiggler

[queen-eevee]

Blasetober Day Fifteen: Favorite Team | Drifting Down to the Other Side (AKA Season 10 election results and the events leading up to the invention of the Styx Wiggler)

The River Styx churns a syrupy onyx beneath their feet as the Tigers peer over the edge, into the waves. Mummy’s tail swishes anxiously around her legs. 

“Why would the League give us a blessing and then not tell us how to use it?” 

“That’s Blaseball,” Famous and Zion grumble in a deadpanned unison. 

Aldon shakes vis head, unconvinced. “I don’t get it,” ve says. “You’re saying something in the water can make us fireproof?”

“And blooddrain-proof,” Ren adds. 

“It’s just one theory,” Randy quickly amends with a wave of his hand. “That’s what Hiroto thought, anyway.”

“Hiroto?”

Hiroto isn’t listening. She’s doing what she always does: sitting on the bank of the River, listening for the sound of ghosts across the shoreline and waiting for any flickers of light. The mist is thicker today—an indication of the changing seasons. Spring’s on its way to the Overworld.

“Can’t the water of the Styx kill you?” Dunlap chirps in a voice that tries to be brave but gives away their nerves. Aldon goes pale. Paula Mason mutters something disapproving about safety hazards under her breath.

Famous, however, scoffs loudly. “I am not throwing myself headfirst into a River that might kill me.”

“Even if it saves you from umpires?”

A few heads turn towards Hiroto when she speaks up. Famous just rolls their eyes.

“No point in doing their job for them.”

“No,” she agrees with a slow nod, “but you said it yourself: The gods of this splort aren’t done with us—even if their ranks are one fewer now. They wouldn’t allow a little bit of river water to kill us.”

It takes a second, but Famous’s eyebrows shoot to their forehead once they realize what she’s implying. A curious but impish look overtakes their face. “So what, you think we’re invincible now?”

“Not invincible.” She grins, feeling her canines brush against her lower lip. “I just think these gods might know the story of Achilles.”

From off to the side, Zion lets out a breathy huff of laughter. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The story of who?” Paula presses.

Hiroto doesn’t answer. “Zion, take my hand.”

In an instant, all the humor disappears from Zion’s face. “Hiroto, you’re insane.”

“Take it!” Hiroto holds out a hand to a bewildered Zion as her blood begins to spark with exhilaration. She realizes that she may as well have announced that she’s going to lay herself down at the feet of the Shelled One, but right or wrong, she’ll at least do one of two things: Die in Hades, in the River Styx, and never have to learn what the Hall looks like; or finally, finally learn how to protect her team from incinerations. 

Or maybe she’ll find a way to swim clean across to the other shore and race to Elysium herself.

Zion’s brows furrow and she pauses for a long, pensive moment, before eventually giving in and grabbing Hiroto’s hand. Mummy gasps, lunging forward. Famous tells her this is a stupid fucking idea with the most concern she’s ever seen on their face. And then Hiroto’s falling backwards.

The River splashes up around her with a sound like crashing lightning and suddenly Hiroto is surrounded by nothing but pitch blackness, a sense of utter darkness and solitude. If it weren’t for Zion’s iron grasp around her wrist, she could easily be convinced she was alone. 

She knows the story of Achilles well—better than Blaseball’s gods, she would imagine—so she makes sure every inch of her person is submerged before she pries Zion’s fingers from her left hand and trades it to her right, making sure no patch of skin remains untouched by the water. The River sings around her head, the current’s hum like a distant melody. Zion’s grip starts to loosen.

It’s strange. A part of Hiroto doesn’t want to leave, now that she’s here. She finds herself somewhat comforted by the warmth of the River. There’s a feeling not unlike an embrace that it provides to her weary body. A gentle familiarity. A homecoming.

Until she realizes the tightness in her lungs and the dizziness in her head aren’t just tricks of the water. The fingers still clinging to Zion are losing feeling. The River wants her, dead or alive. Hiroto snaps back to attention with a jolt and, using her remaining strength, sharply tugs on Zion’s hand.

It takes the effort of Zion, Usurper, Richmond, and Hiroto’s poor attempt at assistance to drag her out of the stream. The River doesn’t seem to be fond of losing its bodies. 

She collapses onto the riverbank with a haggard cough, black droplets trailing down the sides of her face and dripping onto her arms. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear Famous calling her name, but she covers the noise with a delighted laugh.

“Gods, she’s fully lost it, now,” she hears Ren murmur, though her laugh must be contagious because he starts laughing, too.

“How are you feeling?” Aldon asks, wiping away the bangs that have clung to her forehead. Hiroto opens her eyes to see a huddle of her teammates surrounding her shivering form. Despite the cold and the dampness and the burning desire to change into dry socks, she hasn’t felt this good in a long time. It’s as if she’s been plugged into Hades’ Electric City. Her body buzzes with a deep warmth, a newfound strength, and a violent hunger for the game.

“I’m feeling like I was right,” she replies, smug as a cat, “but I’m thinking we’ll need to find an easier way to do this.”