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aquaquadrant · 1 year ago

Text

from eden, part VIII

Word count: 11,296

Warnings: Shipping, self-deprecating thoughts, strong language, violence, blood/injury, mild gore, death, animal death

Summary: After a couple peaceful months living on the ranch with Tango, Jimmy thinks he’s finally found true contentment. Until a stranger named Bravo, who shares a disturbing similarity to Tango, shows up at their door one day. But what happens next is even more unexpected, and threatens to destroy everything they’ve built together.

A/N: Welp, I got this done a lot sooner than I expected despite my summer clinicals. Surprise. Ik this part has been highly anticipated so hopefully I’ve done it justice. Hope y’all enjoy, pls reblog/comment if u do! It really does help <3 - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part VIII - i slithered here from eden, just to sit outside your door

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player sits in a rocking chair.

Jimmy’s head is bent down in concentration as he carefully passes his needle in and out of the fabric. Embroidery has always soothed him, so it’s been his favorite way to spend the time in quiet moments. Several framed squares of his designs already adorn the ranch’s walls- as well as a few shirts in Tango’s closet.

Afternoon sunlight streams in through the window beside Jimmy, illuminating the dust that floats lazily in the still air. He can hear the occasional ka-thunk of pistons as Tango troubleshoots the sugar cane farm in the basement. Beyond that, the animals outside are always audible- though far less so than they used to be, back when the cow pen was adjacent to the ranch house. The background noise is something familiar, now. Something comforting.

It’s been a lovely couple months on the Double Life world since they all agreed to end the death game. Everyone’s bases are really starting to come along, as is the centrally-located shopping district. Infrastructure is gradually getting built up- paths, bridges, landscaping, and even a few communal farms. With the world border down, the Double Lifers are taking the opportunity to spread out a bit.

Jimmy thinks there’ll be an expedition to the nearest stronghold in the coming week to finally procure some elytra and shulker boxes. He’ll leave that particular adventure to the more PVP-inclined players, though. He knows Tango isn’t a fan of dragon fights and truthfully, he doesn’t trust his own capabilities in that regard, either. The last thing he wants to do is cause Tango an unexpected death at an inconvenient time.

There have been a handful of accidents between the two of them, mostly during caving sessions. Those are generally inconsequential and easily laughed off. Jimmy wants to keep it that way.

He can’t deny the charm of the early game lifestyle. Everything’s a bit of a grind at the moment, so the world is consistently well-populated, and it’s nice just to casually hang out and chat with his fellow players. No real objectives, no pressing agendas, no ulterior motives. He feels like he’s finally getting to know the other Hermitcrafters- really know them, in a way that a death game simply wouldn’t facilitate.

Who would’ve thought it? Sure, fighting with or against another player in a battle to the death can make quite the impact. It can forge strong bonds and reveal the deepest, most vulnerable parts of themselves. But it doesn’t paint the entire picture of who a player is.

Jimmy knows them now through the little things.

Scar’s dyslexia manifests itself in both written and spoken words. Ren wags his tail without realizing it when he gets excited. Impulse actually really enjoys mining, and will do it just to pass the time. Bdubs loves the rain, though he’ll make a big show of complaining whenever it comes. Etho’s favorite biome is the jungle- he’s already trying to find one on this world. Despite her intimidating appearance, Cleo is bluffing ninety-percent of the time when they make threats.

It’s nice, and a bit surreal, to get to know the Hermitcrafters this way. Grian, of course, Jimmy’s known for ages- same as Pearl. But ever since they joined that server of legends, it’s felt like they were part of a world entirely out of Jimmy’s reach.

The first two death games helped somewhat in that regard. Though admittedly, Jimmy mostly stuck by people he already knew. It wasn’t completely intentional- he likes the Hermits just fine! But it was sort of intimidating, to get up close and personal with the players he’d been hearing about through the multinet for years.

How silly it seems, looking back now.

“Eeep!” Tango yelps from down below. “Oh, you stupid hopper-!”

Jimmy smiles to himself. One of Tango’s blaze rods probably got sucked up by a hopper again- a startling, but painless, event. Just another quirk that Jimmy’s grown familiar with, the more time they spend with each other.

Jimmy could fill a book with the little things he knows about Tango.

His blaze rods change in temperature to reflect his mood. He isn’t hurt by water, but he isn’t a fan of it, either. He can see in the dark much better than the average player, which no doubt influences his habit of being late to bed and, consequently, late to rise. His skin can get hot enough to accidentally set his shirts on fire. He loves his food burnt, right at the edge of inedible. He can wiggle his pointed ears independently of each other; they’re quite expressive. His teeth are all sharp except for his molars. He thinks bunnies are the cutest mob in existence. He’ll neglect sleep to work on a project if Jimmy lets him. He makes the most adorable squeaking noises when he’s flustered.

That’s the best part in all of this, Jimmy thinks. He’s sure they would’ve made a good team in the death game- though it probably wouldn’t have stopped him from going out early, sad as it is to admit. But he knows it wouldn’t have been like this.

He wouldn’t have known the feeling of Tango’s claws combing through his hair, or gently preening his wings. He wouldn’t have known the sight of Tango’s pale skin flushing bright red all the way down his chest. He wouldn’t have known the sound of Tango’s raspy morning voice humming, “Good mornin’, honey” on the rare occasion that Jimmy is still in bed when Tango wakes up.

Grian said the soulbonds were chosen randomly, beyond his or anyone else’s knowledge or control. Even so, Jimmy can’t help but feel like this was meant to be.

During Third Life, Jimmy had been with Scott, so he hadn’t taken much notice of Tango. Last Life is when Jimmy really started to admire Tango, but always from afar; he’d had the whole Southlands thing going on, and was still too intimidated to approach Tango that way. So being paired with Tango in Double Life had seemed like a sign- one Jimmy had almost been too afraid to follow, him and his stupid self-doubt and second-guessing.

Thank goodness he’d had Scott to talk some sense into him. They might not be together anymore, but he knows he can always count on Scott for some cut-and-dry advice.

Pain pricks into Jimmy’s thumb. He jerks his hand back with a surprised inhale, seeing a pinpoint of red blossoming against his skin. Jeeze, he really drifted off into space there. Pressing his thumb against his lips, he carefully scans his embroidery to make sure he didn’t stain the fabric. Despite this minor annoyance, he can’t help the amused smile that spreads across his face.

Gosh, he really is a sap, isn’t he? Getting so lost in thought about his boyfriend that he let his concentration slip-

There’s a knock at the door.

Jimmy looks over in surprise. He isn’t expecting a visit. And usually if one of the other Double Lifers is going to drop by, they’ll shoot him a chat or whisper beforehand. While Jimmy has most notifications turned off, he always has them on for whispers, and he didn’t hear anything- though it’s possible he missed it, over the clang of pistons down below.

Ah, well. Maybe Tango called Impulse over for some redstone help- it wouldn’t be the first time. Either way, he shouldn’t keep whoever it is waiting, that’d be rude.

Setting his embroidery down on the side table where he’d previously deposited his gloves, Jimmy rises from his seat, the rocking chair creaking behind him. Drifting over to the front door, he pulls his communicator out while his other hand reaches for the doorknob, idly glancing at the chat.

Bravo has joined the game.

Wait, what?

Jimmy’s arm is moving faster than his brain can process this information, already turning the knob to open the door. So the door swings open, and quite suddenly, he finds himself standing in front of Tango.

Wait. No, he realizes a heartbeat later, eyes widening. That’s not Tango.

Not Tango, not quite- but close enough.

The player standing at the doorway looks like he came from the same mold. Everything from his height to his frame to the bone structure of his face is identical to Tango. Jimmy knows that slim nose and pointed chin. He knows the shape of those eyes, even though the color is wrong- green instead of red. He knows that blond hair- though it’s a bit more tame than Tango’s wild locks. The ears are small and rounded, and there are no black stains on his skin. He’s wearing a simple button-up shirt and dark trousers, a far cry from Tango’s usual style, and there are particles dancing in the air around him.

“Hi there,” the player says, in Tango’s voice. He smiles, and his teeth are blunt. “My name’s Bravo.”

Jimmy stares at him. It’s a surreal thing to experience because part of his brain is convinced he’s looking at Tango, while the other part of it can only focus on everything that’s different and wrong. How does he look and sound so much like Tango? “Um… hi? You- what are you-”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Bravo chuckles, waving a hand dismissively. It’s a human hand, no blackened claws, no shackle dangling around the wrist. He looks Jimmy up and down. “Um- sorry, and you are?” he asks politely, quirking a brow.

“Oh!” Jimmy blinks, putting his communicator back in his pocket. “Um, I’m Jimmy?”

Some kind of realization dawns in Bravo’s expression. “Jimmy,” he murmurs incredulously, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “Of course.”

It’s like he knows Jimmy- or, he thinks he does. It’s incredibly unnerving, considering that Jimmy has never met this player before. And hang on, this is a private world, how did he even get in here?

“Nice to meet ya, Jimmy,” Bravo says brightly, holding out a hand. “Sorry to uh, you know, barge in on you like this, I’m- I’m sure this must be weird.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. He doesn’t shake Bravo’s hand. “Um, who exactly-”

“So!” Bravo folds his arms and fixes Jimmy with a keen look. “So uh, is- is there a player named Tango here, by any chance?”

“Uh…” Jimmy hesitates, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Something about this doesn’t feel right. “You know, I’m… not sure if he’s back yet,” he says, feigning an apologetic smile. He starts closing the door. “You just wait here a second, okay, and I’ll go check-”

Bravo’s hand shoots out to grab the door.

“Actually,” he says, almost sheepish, “do you mind if I come in?” He’s stronger than he looks, holding the door open against Jimmy without much effort. “It’s just- I’ve come a long way, is the thing, and uh, I sorta need to-”

“Jimmy!”

Oh no.

Tango’s voice comes from the basement. Jimmy hears his footsteps thumping up the stairs, and his heart jolts. He whirls around, opening his mouth to call out, “Wait, Tango-”

The basement door opens. Tango sweeps into the room, blaze rods swirling above his head in obvious agitation. “Jimmy,” he says breathlessly, “have you seen chat? There’s-” He breaks off abruptly when he sees Bravo. “Oh.”

Bravo’s entire expression changes. His eyes narrow, his lips peel back into a snarl. “You,” he hisses, stepping through the doorway.

Jimmy can actually feel the sudden confusion that rushes through Tango by way of their soulbond- something that only happens when emotions are at their peak. The confusion rapidly gives way to recognition, to panic, to fear. It’s overwhelming; electricity buzzing through his skull, through his very data. And he knows, with abrupt certainty, that Tango somehow knows this player the way he knows his own reflection.

Bravo seems to know this, too. “So.” His voice is colder, now. Tight and low in a very non-Tango-like way, barely-restrained anger humming beneath the surface. “You’ve made yourself right at home in my life, haven’t you, Tango? How long did you think you could get away with it?”

Jimmy finally finds his voice. “Woah, hey,” he says sternly, stepping in front of Bravo to block his path. “I- I don’t know what’s goin’ on here, but I think you need to leave-”

“And who are you?” Bravo asks, studying Jimmy with renewed intensity. “Why- why are you here with him?”

Jimmy draws himself up, his wings flaring out defensively. “Wh- I’m his soulmate, thank you very much,” he snaps.

Emotions flash across Bravo’s face, too many to name, before settling on pure outrage. “Oh, so there are soulmates in this world?” he demands sharply, his green eyes blazing with fury as he rounds on Tango. “You’ve stolen mine and you didn’t even tell him?”

What.

“... what?” Jimmy breathes, glancing back at Tango.

Tango still hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word- like he’s frozen to the spot. He’s staring at Bravo with wide, terrified eyes, pupils shrunken into pinpoints. The unabashed horror in his expression is chilling. The feeling of it through their soulbond is even more so.

Bravo cocks his head to the side. “Do uh- do you wanna tell him, or should I?” he asks, taking a step forward.

“Tell me what?” Jimmy demands, stepping back to put a protective arm in front of Tango. “Tango, who is this guy? What’s he on about?”

(He’s been lying to you, a familiar voice whispers in Jimmy’s mind. He blocks it out; now’s not the time for his intrusive thoughts.)

Tango’s chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He licks his lips, swallows. “I’m from Hels,” he whispers. “Jimmy, I’m so sorry- I- I didn’t know how to tell you, I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Jimmy soothes him, even as his mind races. He puts his hands on Tango’s shoulders, leaning in to meet his gaze with a searching look. “What’s Hels?”

“Hels,” Bravo cuts in darkly, “is exactly what it sounds like. It’s this evil world where all the evil counterparts of normal players live evil lives, doing evil things. Tango is my Hels- my uh, my evil doppelganger, if you wanna call it that. And he was never supposed to be here.” He gives a bitter laugh. “So- so I guess that’d make me your real soulmate, huh, Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s mind is reeling. It’s so much information to take in at once- a secret world full of evil doppelgangers that exist for every single player in the universe? It sounds so bizarre, so unbelievable…

Until he looks at Tango.

There’s no shock or confusion in Tango’s expression at all anymore, and none through his soulbond either. There’s just dread. Just sick, heavy, devastating dread- the kind that can only be born from anticipation. From having the same nightmare over and over again, only to watch it finally come true.

Jimmy knows there’s a chapter in Tango’s life that he’s kept secret.

He has nightmares about things he won’t discuss. He’s sensitive about his claws and the dark stains under his eyes. He doesn’t talk about what he did before coming to Hermitcraft. He never takes those broken shackles off his wrists- Jimmy isn’t sure if he even can. And sometimes, he’ll look at Jimmy with such crushing sadness, it’s like he’s already mourning them. Like he’s just waiting for some terrible thing to come and take all their happiness away...

Oh.

(You idiot. Didn’t you see the signs?)

Jimmy takes a steadying breath, so his voice won’t wobble. “Tango,” he says softly, “that’s- that can’t be right. This doesn’t make any sense, please-”

“Well?” Bravo snaps, losing his patience. “What’s the matter, Tango? You don’t wanna tell him how you escaped from Hels almost a decade ago by swapping places with me? That you took what should’ve been my place on Hermitcraft?”

Tango’s got that cornered animal look in his eyes again. He’s shaking, muscles locked like he’s caught between flight and freeze. Whoever this is, whatever is going on, Tango is clearly not in the frame of mind to take control of the situation right now.

Well then.

Slowly, carefully, Jimmy slips a hand into his pocket. Without looking, he types a message into chat, ‘SOS RANCH,’ and prays he was successful.

Bravo continues without noticing, his focus directed at Tango. “You don’t wanna tell him that you sentenced me to an inescapable prison of- of horrific violence and suffering? That you’ve been lying about what you really are this whole fucking time? And that you stole the life that should’ve been mine?”

Jimmy opens his mouth to protest, indignation burning inside him- who is this stranger, to come to their home uninvited and make such outrageous accusations? But then he feels the guilt bleed through their soulbond.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tango says hoarsely.

With those four simple words, everything comes crashing down into place. It’s a confession- confirmation that everything Bravo’s saying about what Tango is, where he came from, is true. He really is a… a Hels, or doppelganger, or whatever they call it. He really did escape from this so-called prison world, Hels, almost a decade ago.

Which is so confusing, an absent part of Jimmy’s mind thinks, almost in a delirious panic. Does Hels refer to the players or the world? Or both? Why would they do that?

(You can’t trust him.)

“Please, you gotta understand,” Tango pleads, voice desperate. His gaze keeps cutting between Bravo and Jimmy. “I- I don’t know how I escaped Hels, I swear. One second, I’m runnin’ for my life, and then- and then the portal just appeared in front of me. And I knew I couldn’t hang around or they’d find me again, so I just- I went through, and suddenly I was in a place called Hermitcraft.”

That makes Bravo pause. “You… didn’t make the portal?” he asks quietly, brows pinching together.

“No!” Tango cries. He rakes his claws through his hair, his agitation clear in the way his blaze rods whirl and spark. “No, I didn’t make the portal, I wouldn’t know how! And- and I certainly didn’t know that going through it would pull the ol’ switcheroo on us, I- I didn’t know about you, I swear.”

The conviction in his voice is undeniable. Relief washes over Jimmy. He’s still not completely filled in on the situation, but at least this much is evident. Whatever misfortune fell Bravo, it wasn’t a deliberate act by Tango, the way he seems to think it was.

Of course it wasn’t. Tango might’ve been hiding some things about his past, but he wouldn’t do something like that, he wouldn’t knowingly condemn someone to a fate like that-

Then Tango pauses, grimacing. “At least, not at first…”

Jimmy’s heart sinks. “What?”

Tango flinches. “A player came to Hermitcraft a few years ago,” he admits, ducking his head in shame. “Helsknight. He- I never met him, but Welsknight did, and- and he said he was some sorta evil doppelganger from a place called Hels? I- once I realized what it meant, and what must’ve happened-”

“So you did know,” Bravo interrupts lowly, his face darkening.

(What a twist! You fell for his lies again.)

Jimmy doesn’t let his shock show. He doesn’t. But he’s pretty sure Tango feels it through their bond, anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Tango breathes frantically. “I- I thought if I told someone, okay, they- they’d try to send me back, and- god, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He takes a shaky breath, meeting Bravo’s gaze, and Jimmy is startled to see tears in his eyes. Remorse drips through their soulbond. “It was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have just left you there.”

Bravo blinks, something shuddering in his expression.

Jimmy holds his breath. He’s disturbed to find he has no idea what Bravo’s thinking; it’s Tango’s face, he should be able to read it just as well, right? Except wait, no, he doesn’t actually know how to read Tango, does he? Because if Tango’s been able to keep such a big secret from him all this time, even with their soul bond, then Jimmy isn’t as good at reading him as he thought he was.

And isn’t that an unpleasant revelation.

(You’re so stupid.)

(How did you not realize?)

(Your souls are literally linked.)

Jimmy pushes the thoughts away. Time and place.

“It’s okay,” Bravo says after a moment, his tone suddenly flat and calm and entirely not okay. “Cause now we can set things back to the way they’re supposed to be.”

… we?

Before Jimmy can do or say or think anything else, several things happen at once.

An odd sound reaches his ears; the distinctive crash of glass breaking. It seems to come from several directions around him rather than any one spot- and he finds out why exactly one heartbeat later, when all the windows on the first floor shatter and unfamiliar players spill into the ranch.

There’s more than a dozen of them; mean-looking humans, many of them tall and well-built. They’re clad in full enchanted netherite, a couple of them wearing sleek black lab coats over top, and they’ve all got particles swimming around them.

Bravo sweeps forward to push Jimmy out of the way, slamming him back against the wall. In the same moment, several players rush Tango. They don’t wield weapons- their hands are empty, like they’re simply going to try and grab Tango instead of kill him, to hold him down, subdue him.

But Tango’s faster.

Quicker than breathing, he twists underneath their outstretched hands, bringing his own arm up in a wide slash- and tearing his claws straight across one player’s neck. The player disappears in a puff of respawn smoke before their body ever hits the ground, leaving a spray of bright blood arcing through the air.

Without pausing, Tango springs up at the next closest player with a bone-chilling snarl. Clinging to their shoulder with one hand, Tango wrenches their head back and sinks his teeth into their throat. Razor-sharp fangs clamp down onto soft flesh. Another cloud of smoke, and Tango’s already moved on to the next one.

The players are shouting, words blurring into meaningless noise in Jimmy’s ears. Their forms seem to blend into each other, an endlessly churning sea of movement. And in the eye of it all is Tango, baring his bloody teeth and growling a sound that Jimmy’s only ever heard come from a blaze as he continues to attack the invaders, pupils dilated so his narrowed eyes almost look completely black.

In the split-second that Jimmy has to process everything, all he can feel is shock. He’s never seen Tango move like that. He’s never heard Tango sound like that. And he never imagined Tango would kill like that- with claws and teeth over sword and shield. It’s something completely unrecognizable, like some wild creature has taken his place.

And that creature is on fire.

Tango’s blaze rods are absolutely roaring with flame, engulfing his entire form in a swirling inferno. The fire greedily spreads along the wooden floor and snakes up the walls- they have fire tick on here- but it washes harmlessly over the other players.

Splash potions, Jimmy realizes belatedly. That breaking-glass sound he heard was splash potions; they’ve all got fire resistance.

(Oh, now you catch on.)

All of them, that is, except for Jimmy.

He smells the smoke before he feels the burning. A gasp wrenches itself from his throat; his wings. The tips of his wings are on fire, golden feathers glowing with flame. Pain pricks its way up his wings as the flames eat through the first layer of feathers and reach the follicles. He cries out, finally regaining enough awareness to push away from Bravo, wings thrashing as he desperately tries to put them out.

Through the fire and the fray, he finds Tango’s eyes.

Awareness abruptly crashes back into Tango’s gaze. His pupils constrict enough to let the red bleed through again. Horror dawns in his expression. It strikes Jimmy through their soulbond and it’s staggering, like an icicle in his heart.

Tango freezes. A player takes the opportunity to slam him to the ground, hard, the echo of damage slamming into Jimmy’s chest.

As quickly as it began, the fight is over.

Tango doesn’t react as the players wrench his arms behind his back, securing them with chains pulled from inventories. He just stares aghast at Jimmy’s burning wings, mouth parted as he pants, blood dripping from his chin. And that’s all Jimmy can see before Bravo grabs his arm and pulls him out of the burning house.

The sudden rush of fresh air reminds Jimmy that his lungs are full of smoke. He coughs violently, doubled-over, eyes burning. When he finally recovers, he realizes he’s no longer on fire- his shoes and pant legs are suddenly cold and damp, and Bravo is putting a bucket of water away.

The edges of Jimmy’s wings are tinged black, the burnt feathers curled like peeling paint.

(So what? This isn’t the first time he’s burned you.)

But Jimmy’s otherwise unharmed, so he whirls back around to face the ranch. “Tango!” he screams, despite the ragged pain in his throat. He only makes it a couple steps before the players emerge from the doorway, two of them dragging Tango between them.

Two more players surge forward to hold Jimmy back. They’re both much bigger and stronger than him, their grips like iron. That doesn’t stop Jimmy from fighting, anyways, pointless as it is.

The emotions he’s feeling from Tango through their bond right now are enough to send him into a panic. He needs to get to him, right now.

Then one of the players twists Jimmy’s arm behind his back in a very unnatural way, making him inhale sharply. Pain shrieks through his bones, aggravated by even the slightest movement- he falls still, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as his eyes prick with tears.

(So useless.)

Okay, Jimmy, calm down. Think. His message- if his message went out successfully, the others should be on their way. And even if it didn’t, someone is bound to notice the new players’ arrivals eventually, right? He just- he needs to hang on until they get here. Maybe he can try to stall them?

(Oh, go on, then. This should be good.)

“Who-” Jimmy’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. “Who are you guys? What- what do you want?”

It’s Bravo who answers, having circled around to stand in front of Jimmy. He actually looks displeased to see him restrained. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, “we don’t wanna hurt you. Right, guys?” he adds pointedly.

The grip on Jimmy’s arm relaxes fractionally- just enough to ease the pain, but not enough to give any leeway.

“I’m sorry you got mixed up in this,” Bravo continues, crouching down so he’s eye-level with Jimmy. Strangely enough, he sounds like he actually means it. “They’re just here for Tango, okay? I promise they’ll leave-”

“Well, well, well.”

That’s a new voice. Jimmy turns his head to see a tall, slim man stride over to them. He wears no armor, just one of those long black lab coats, his arms folded neatly behind his back. Pale and dark-haired, his red eyes burn from behind a pair of orange shades, and an unnaturally wide smile splits his face.

“Atlas.” Bravo straightens up. “That uh, that didn’t go quite as smoothly as you planned,” he says accusingly, putting his hands on his hips. “I thought you said these guys could handle him.”

The man, Atlas, shrugs a shoulder. “No matter,” he says, continuing past Bravo. “We got what we wanted, didn’t we?” He comes to a stop in front of Tango, his grin somehow growing even wider. “Hello, Mr. Tango. So lovely to see you again.”

Even in Tango’s current state, something in his distant, glassy expression seems to recognize Atlas. A whimper works its way out of his throat. Jimmy can sense that he’s absolutely terrified. He shrinks back, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Oh, come now.” Atlas stoops forward, grabbing Tango’s chin with a red-gloved hand to tilt his face up. He clicks his tongue. “This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

“Leave him alone!” Jimmy shouts, though it comes out as more of a plea than he’d intended.

That gets Atlas to release Tango. He glances over his shoulder. “And who is this?” he asks, curiosity glinting behind his shades.

“No one,” Bravo says quickly. “Just another player on the server-”

“I’m his soulmate!” Jimmy interrupts defiantly, lifting his chin.

Atlas raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

Alarm flashes across Bravo’s face. “Atlas,” he says warningly, “he’s not important. He doesn’t- I’ll explain things to him, later. Trust me, okay, you- you don’t have to worry about him.”

Atlas studies Jimmy for another moment. “Very well,” he relents finally, turning away again. “Well done, everybody. Now we can finally get back to work.” He pulls something out of his inventory- a thick metal collar that shares a startling resemblance to the shackles around Tango’s wrists.

Jimmy’s stomach drops.

Bravo jolts in surprise. “Woah, what’s that?”

“Just a little extra insurance,” Atlas hums, fitting the collar around Tango’s neck. He uses a small key to lock it, and a shrill beep rings out.

Tango hisses in pain. His blaze rods extinguish to a dull bronze color, the way regular blaze rods look when they’ve been removed from their blaze. Without any sort of ambient flame or glow coming from them, they suddenly look smaller, more lifeless. They even hang a bit lower in the air than they normally do, hovering tightly around Tango’s temple like some sort of deconstructed crown.

All the emotions Jimmy was feeling from Tango suddenly vanish, cloaked beneath a thick, heavy numbness. That’s somehow even more alarming.

Atlas puts the key back in his inventory before spinning on his heel. “Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get going.” He grins at Bravo. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bravo.”

Bravo jerks his chin in a nod. “Take care.”

The gathered players follow Atlas without another word, dragging Tango with them. He makes no sound, no movement- completely limp in their grasps. The players restraining Jimmy shove him roughly to the ground before following suit.

Wheezing, Jimmy struggles to get to his feet, wings flapping as he catches his balance. He glances out in the direction the players are going, and his heart jolts.

There’s a portal out in their wheat field. Bright red light swirls inside the obsidian frame. That must be how they got onto the world, and they intend to take Tango back with them. He can’t let that happen.

(What could you possibly do to stop them?)

Spreading his wings, Jimmy moves to follow- but then a strong hand snatches his arm.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait,” Bravo says urgently, his voice low. “Just let them go. They’ve got what they wanted, alright, they’ll leave.”

Is he serious? “Lemme go!” Jimmy protests, trying to pull his arm free. “He’s my soulmate!”

Bravo holds fast. “Hey, look, I- I know this must be confusing,” he soothes, his expression sympathetic, which is so so wrong. “It’s not your fault. Tango’s been lying to you about a lot of things, okay, he’s been manipulating you. But it’s alright, now things will finally be how they’re supposed to-”

Jimmy punches him in the face.

He’s done listening to this. Whatever Tango did, wherever he came from, Jimmy won’t abandon him.

The blow takes Bravo by surprise. He reels back and lets go of Jimmy’s arm. Pushing past him, Jimmy takes to the air.

Oh gosh, he’s so out of practice- the avians don’t use their wings during death games, as sort of a gentleman’s rule to keep things fair for the elytra-less players. But even after they ended the game, he hasn’t had much need to fly lately, spending most of his time at or around the ranch. And it definitely doesn’t help that his wings are still stinging from the burns and his mind is spinning out of control and his stomach is churning like he’s about to throw up- oh gosh, please don’t throw up.

(This can’t end well.)

Jimmy swiftly cuts ahead of the group of players, wings fanning out as he tumbles into a rather ungraceful landing in front of the portal. His hands are shaking. His heart is pounding. He’s badly outnumbered and outmatched; there’s no way he’s winning this fight.

But he doesn’t care. All he knows is that he has to do something.

Standing between the players and the portal, Jimmy flares his wings out. “You’re not taking him,” he declares, drawing his sword. Somehow, his voice doesn’t waver.

The players stop. Everyone is quiet.

Then one of them laughs. The others quickly catch on, filling the field with laughter. Despite his fear, despite the adrenaline tremoring through his body, Jimmy feels himself flush.

(Pathetic.)

(No one takes you seriously.)

(Can’t do anything right.)

One of the players, a burly man nearly a foot taller than Jimmy, takes the initiative to step forward. “You wanna rethink that, little birdie?” he asks bemusedly, cracking his knuckles.

Jimmy stands firm- or, as firm as he can while trembling. The player shrugs a shoulder before charging.

He sees the first blow coming, and he’s still not fast enough to dodge it. The player’s fist collides with the side of his face. Pain explodes across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The next punch lands squarely in his gut.

Jimmy manages to stay standing, staggering back as he gasps for breath. He tries to bring his sword up- the player bats it aside with his hand and spins into a roundhouse kick.

Crack.

Blood streams from Jimmy’s nose. Stars flash in front of his eyes. Oh, these players hit hard. He’s barely recovered when a strong hand on his arm throws him to the ground. He rolls out of the way as a heavy boot comes down right where his head was, scrambling back to his feet and blinking blood and dirt out of his eyes.

It’s hard to tell how much awareness Tango has right now; the look in his eyes is a million blocks away. But he winces at every bit of damage that Jimmy takes, shared through their soulbond.

(You’re just making things worse.)

Jimmy somehow kept hold of his sword. He lunges forward; the player sidesteps and snatches his arm, reeling back his own for another punch-

“Wait, stop!” a voice shouts.

Tango?

Wait, no. Not Tango, who is still on his knees at the edge of the circle with his arms chained behind his back, flanked by two players and borderline incapacitated.

It’s Bravo. He pushes his way through the group of players, breathless and angry. There’s a bright red mark blossoming along his jaw from where Jimmy hit him, and yet he takes in the scene with a look of outrage. “Atlas! This wasn’t part of the deal, he’s innocent-”

“He’s interfering,” Atlas says coolly before nodding at the player. “Proceed.”

Another kick to the stomach sends Jimmy to the ground again. His sword flies out of his hand. Before he can even think about recovering it, the player’s boot slams into his ribs. Instinctively, Jimmy curls in on himself, unable to hold back a cry of pain.

Distantly, he hears Tango echo him, hunched over on his knees. Salt in the wound.

“He’s so weak,” another player snickers from the sidelines. “Are all overworlders this weak?”

(They’re right; you’re weak.)

(No wonder you’re always out first.)

(Is anyone surprised?)

Jimmy struggles to get up again, wings flailing, wheezing for breath and coughing up the blood he accidentally inhaled from his (likely) broken nose. His arms shake. His head is pounding. He can’t have more than a couple hearts of health left. All he wants to do is lay on the ground and wait for the world to stop spinning.

But despite everything, he rises to his feet.

“You just won’t quit,” the player tuts. “Maybe a respawn will teach you a lesson.”

Smack.

Two cries of pain ring out. Back into the bloody dirt. Jimmy lifts his head in time to see the player’s boot swinging towards his face, to deal what will most likely be the final blow-

“Stop!” Atlas shouts suddenly. “Can’t you see their damage is linked?”

The player freezes.

Jimmy blinks.

There’s a split-second of shared realization, a heavy silence falling over the field as everyone inhales at once. A single heartbeat of static as neurons fire. Then Jimmy moves, lunging for his sword, snatching it up to plunge it into his chest-

But he isn’t fast enough. The player dives forward and tackles Jimmy to the ground, knocking his sword away. Another player darts over and squirrels it into their inventory.

(Stupid. Should’ve thought of that sooner.)

“No!” Jimmy desperately tries to free himself, thrashing in the player’s grasp.

If he can just knock those last few hearts off, he and Tango will respawn back in their bedroom, in the ranch- which is currently on fire, sure, and not very far away, but at least they’d be able to make a break for it. Gosh, he really is stupid, why didn’t he think of that before? Their health has been linked for months now!

(It’s almost impressive how bad you are.)

One of the other players rushes over to help restrain Jimmy, pulling a pair of shackles from their inventory. Jimmy tries to fight them, but it’s to no avail. He ends up with his hands cuffed behind his back, his wings uncomfortably pinned between them.

Atlas is quiet as he walks over. He studies Jimmy with an unreadable expression, eyes hidden behind his shades.

Jimmy’s heart is in his throat as he stares back up at Atlas. His pulse is thrumming in his ears. He tries to think of his next move, but panic is threatening to overwhelm him. Everything’s happened so fast- it can’t have been more than a couple minutes since his SOS went out.

Assuming it even did. He dreads to think of what might happen if it didn’t.

For a few moments, no one speaks. The red portal swirls behind Jimmy, mere blocks away. The wheat field around them blows gently in the breeze. The animals are calling out from their pens. The sky above them is strikingly blue, with few clouds to cover the bright sun. It’s almost hard to believe this is happening on what would otherwise be such a pleasant, normal day.

Then again, Jimmy supposes, all days start out normal, don’t they?

“... what does this mean?” Bravo ventures finally.

A grin spreads across Atlas’s face.

“Well, I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans,” he says briskly, folding his arms behind his back. “We’ll be taking our new friend back with us, just to make sure this ‘bond’ won’t interfere with our operation.”

(Uh oh, you’re in trouble now.)

“What?” Bravo glances back and forth between Jimmy and Tango, brows pinching together. “But- but what if it does? What if the bond still exists off-world?”

Atlas makes a noncommittal noise. “Then I suppose we’ll be forced to rework our farm design to accommodate it.”

Farm design? Jimmy hasn’t the foggiest idea what that means, but Bravo clearly does, his face paling.

“You can’t do that,” Bravo protests, quickly moving beside Atlas. “You- you said no one else had to get involved, that you just needed Tango-”

“That was before I knew about our little feathered friend here.” Atlas looms over Jimmy, that deranged smile of his growing ever wider. “I wonder how much someone would pay for golden-feathered arrows…”

Jimmy’s stomach lurches. He knows the soulbond doesn’t exist off world, but these players don’t. And it’s starting to look like they won’t care either way.

A shadow falls over Bravo’s expression. “I’m not gonna let you trap another overworlder in Hels, Atlas,” he says, his voice low.

“I’m not asking permission, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas replies coldly, peering at Bravo from over the brim of his shades. “Don’t be foolish. You’ve got your freedom. Just walk away.”

Bravo draws his sword. “I can’t do that.”

Atlas sighs. He doesn’t look very concerned. “You just had to make things difficult, didn’t you?” He turns away towards the portal, waving a hand dismissively. “Bring Tango and his little avian. Everyone else, you know what to do.”

The players standing with Tango grab him by the arms and start to drag him towards the portal. The player restraining Jimmy pulls him roughly to his feet. All the others pull swords from their inventories and start moving in towards Bravo, who tenses in preparation-

A horn goes off.

That gets everyone to pause, glancing in the direction it came from. It’s a sound Jimmy is horribly familiar with; the other Double Lifers teased him relentlessly with that horn during the early days, until he and Tango got horns of their own and the novelty wore off. But right now, he couldn’t be happier to hear it.

The cavalry has arrived.

A second horn joins the first, and two figures break over the hill behind the ranch; Impulse and Bdubs on horseback. As they charge down the hill, Jimmy can make out Joel and Etho riding with them, axes at the ready.

Surprised exclamations ripple through the group as the players shift to face this new threat. But then a third horn sounds, and an arrow hits a player directly in the neck. He disappears in a puff of smoke, items scattering among the wheat. A shadow falls over the group- Grian, up in the air, his double pair of wings flattening into a nosedive, holding Scar underneath his arms as he notches another arrow.

“Well, hello there!” Scar grins.

“Not too late, are we, Tim?” Grian cackles from above.

Shouts of alarm ring out. They’re drowned out by a new chorus of war horns; the remaining Double Lifers approach from the side.

Pearl’s wolf pack rises over the wheat field like a wave, filling the air with howling and snarling, the red-hooded player herself right in the thick of it. Running with them are Scott, Cleo, and Martyn, all with weapons drawn.

Ren is in full wolf mode- something Jimmy’s heard about but has yet to see. All his human features have completely disappeared into the form of a giant wolf, dark-furred and red-eyed. Bigb is perched on his shoulders, holding on with one hand while his other wields a sword.

The Double Lifers let out a battle cry, bearing down on the portal all at the same time.

(Here we go.)

Everything descends into chaos.

The field is suddenly full of moving bodies, packed so tightly that individual forms can barely be distinguished. The air is filled with shouting and growling and the clash of metal, and the scent of fresh blood carries on the wind.

Jimmy catches only flashes of it all.

Scott’s hanging back a little, keeping to the high ground of the hills as he tactfully fires arrows into the fray. A couple of Pearl’s wolves stay with him to provide cover while his chosen soulmate, Cleo, storms into battle-

-Impulse steers his horse around the outskirts, one hand twisted in its mane while his other draws a sword. Leaning slightly out of his seat, his forked tail lashing behind him to keep balance, he slices his blade through a player’s neck-

-arrows rain down over the crowd as Grian soars above them. At this close a distance and against enchanted netherite, Scar’s arrows aren’t resulting in his usual one-shot kill, but they’re definitely leaving their mark-

-Ren charges into the thick of battle with a hair-raising snarl, snapping his jaws closed around one player’s entire torso. Bigb doesn’t flinch as the blood sprays in front of him, merely ducking as one half of the player’s body flies over his head before poofing into smoke-

-leaping off horseback, Etho flicks out a fishing rod and snags a player close enough to land a hit with his axe. As the player moves to retaliate, Joel suddenly appears between them, lifting his shield to block-

-Cleo towers above the other players, grabbing one by the face and flinging him across the field. A sword embeds itself in the back of her knee, making her stumble. Their attacker is quickly dispatched by well-placed arrow from Scott, while Martyn rushes to Cleo’s aid-

-wolves tear at a player’s limbs, sharp teeth glancing off netherite armor. One wolf finds purchase in the crook of the player’s elbow, fiercely hanging on even as the player screams and brings their sword down on its skull-

-Bdubs is thrown off his horse with a shout as a heavy blow knocks its legs out from under it. Landing hard, he can’t recover fast enough to dodge the next slash of the player’s sword, but a fishing line swiftly yanks him out of the way-

- a wolf drops dead mid-lunge, an arrow bristling from its open jaws. Pearl’s red eyes burn with fury as she lifts her axe, and everything is wolves and blood and screaming-

Jimmy is abruptly brought back to himself when the player holding him lurches towards the portal, trying to make a break for it. Jimmy digs his heels in and struggles to get free- and then the player collapses. He sees the arrow sticking out of their chest for a brief second before they respawn away.

“Got ‘em!” comes Scar’s voice from above.

Jimmy glances up. “Grian!” he screams above the din. “Scar! Kill me!”

He sees the understanding flash across Grian’s face. Grian changes direction mid-swoop, his four wings moving with expert dexterity. Pumping his wings to gain some height, he readjusts his grip on Scar before careening into a dive. Scar zeroes in on Jimmy and draws an arrow back-

Then an arrow appears in one of Grian’s wings.

The pair is immediately thrown off course, Scar’s arrow sailing far above Jimmy’s head. Crying out in pain and alarm, Grian goes down somewhere beyond Jimmy’s view, sending up a flurry of wheat and bloody feathers.

Heart jolting, Jimmy turns in the direction the arrow came from.

Atlas is reloading a crossbow.

Jimmy rushes him. He can’t exactly shoot himself with a crossbow while his hands are cuffed like this, nor does he have a good chance at wrestling it away from Atlas in the first place, but he’s hoping Atlas might fire at him on pure instinct.

Unfortunately, it seems Atlas is too smart for that. He merely steps aside, hooking a foot around Jimmy’s leg to trip him. Jimmy faceplants into the dirt with a thump- disoriented, but unharmed. Atlas is being very mindful of how much damage he deals out.

Groaning, Jimmy rolls onto his back. Atlas stands above him, his smile pinched at the edges with fury.

“You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to be,” he says sternly, leaning down to grab Jimmy by the front of his shirt.

Jimmy wishes he could do something bold, like spit in Atlas’s face or curse him out, but he doesn’t get the chance.

A blade swings towards Atlas.

Clang!

In the blink of an eye, Atlas has swapped his crossbow for a sword and parried the blade away, letting Jimmy drop back onto the ground. Once his vision stops spinning, the image comes into focus; it’s Bravo, lunging after Atlas.

He’s breathing hard and bleeding from what looks like several wolf bites, his crisp white shirt torn and stained with blood. But it does nothing to dull the absolute fury in his eyes as he attacks Atlas, diving forward with a powerful slash of his sword.

Atlas moves lightly on his feet, keeping just out of reach as he delivers quick, precise jabs with his own sword. There’s a detached, sort of clinical aspect to the way he fights, his eyes cold and hard behind his shades despite that ever-present grin.

Bravo, by contrast, seems to be fueled solely by rage. He pursues Atlas with the intensity of a wolf on the hunt, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. Every slash and stab has immense power behind it, metal screeching against metal as Atlas counters him.

There’s no talking, no witty banter. Just vicious fighting with intent to kill.

Forgotten for the moment, Jimmy rolls onto his knees. Struggling to get his feet under him, he glances around.

Most of the enemy players are gone. A few of them have come back through the portal, but seemingly without a backup set of armor. They quickly fall to Pearl’s wolf pack. And with the Double Lifers still gathered by the portal, any attempts to reinvade will descend into a cycle of spawn-camping. This battle is drawing to a close.

Atlas seems to realize this, too. He delivers a parting blow to Bravo’s side, throwing him to the ground, before darting towards the portal. As he steps into the swirling red light, he meets Jimmy’s eyes and grins.

“Until next time,” he calls. Then he vanishes.

Bravo moves as if to follow- but the portal extinguishes.

Martyn pokes his head out from behind the portal frame, which is now missing a block. “Sorry,” he says unapologetically, swinging his pickaxe onto his shoulder, “did you need to use that?”

Bravo draws up short. He lowers his head to charge, sword at the ready, but then a fishing hook snags on his sleeve. Before he can blink, he’s wrapped up in the line, arms pinned to his sides.

Etho drops down from the top of the portal frame a second later. Landing behind Bravo, he plants a heavy boot in the square of his back and sends him to the ground, swiftly moving to hold him there.

“Lemme go!” Bravo protests, outraged. He tries to squirm free from Etho’s grasp but can’t quite get the necessary purchase, so for the time being, he seems thoroughly incapacitated.

“Hang on, Timmy,” Martyn murmurs, grabbing Jimmy’s arm to help him stand. He hooks his pickaxe into one of the links of Jimmy’s chains and snaps them with one sharp twist.

Jimmy exhales as his arms and wings come free. His joints are a little stiff, but he’s regenerated enough health that he’s no longer hovering over death’s door. Some of the Double Lifers are absent, presumably killed and respawned back in their own bases, but the majority of them are still gathered in the field. All the enemy players are gone, piles of dropped items scattered amongst the wheat. The portal is broken.

It’s over.

Jimmy’s breath catches. Now that he’s not in the midst of any direct confrontation, one thought comes screaming to the forefront of his mind.

He’s lost sight of Tango.

Terror seizes Jimmy. For all he knows, someone could’ve dragged Tango through the portal before it went down. If their bond is disrupted, even a respawn won’t save him.

Martyn puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you-”

“Tango!” Jimmy cries. “Wh- where’s Tango?”

“Here!” Impulse’s voice calls.

Jimmy spins around. Impulse is crouched near the edge of the field, only his head poking out above the wheat. Wings flaring, Jimmy half-runs, half-flies over to him, limbs shaky and uncoordinated from the mixture of adrenaline and overwhelming relief.

Tango is kneeling beside Impulse. His hands are free of the chains now, resting limply by his side. The collar is still locked around his neck, and there’s a startling lack of clarity in his eyes as he stares blankly at the ground in front of him.

Jimmy falls to his knees in front of Tango, wrapping him in a hug. “Tango. Oh gosh, I’m here, I’m here.” He pulls away enough to look at Tango’s face. “Are- are you okay?”

(Dumb question. Of course he’s not.)

Tango doesn’t reply, doesn’t even seem to register Jimmy’s presence. Despite his plain expression, he’s trembling, and it suddenly hits Jimmy that he might be in shock.

Impulse’s forked tail thrashes anxiously through the air. “Do you know what this is?” he asks Jimmy, carefully tapping the collar around Tango’s neck. “I tried to take it off, and it seemed to hurt him.”

Jimmy’s stomach sinks. “No, I don’t.” He turns over his shoulder to shout at Bravo. “What did you guys do to him?”

“I don’t know!” Bravo shoots back, almost sounding exasperated. “I didn’t- I wasn’t made aware of that little skadoodler!”

“Can someone,” Grian interrupts, stalking up to Bravo with his wings flared out and eyes flashing, “explain what exactly is going on here?”

“Gladly,” Bravo huffs, “if you can get this guy to stop crushing my ribcage.”

Etho eases up a little so that Bravo can sit up, but still keeps a tight hold on his arms. Bravo glances over his shoulder and finally sees who’s restraining him.

“Oh, of course you’re here!” he exclaims irritably.

Etho blinks. “Uh, have we met before?”

“No,” Bravo snaps, “but I’ve met your doppelganger, and lemme tell ya, the guy’s got major issues.”

There’s a pause as shared confusion washes over the group.

“Doppelganger?” Grian says finally, knitting his brows together.

“Right, yeah.” Bravo clears his throat. “So uh, hi, my name’s Bravo, and your buddy Tango over there is my evil doppelganger from an evil world called Hels.”

Jimmy’s heart twists. “Stop it!” he protests, folding a wing around Tango protectively. “He’s not evil-”

“What, they deserve to know!” Bravo retorts. “After all, it was supposed to be me who joined Hermitcraft all those years ago, but somehow, Tango and I swapped places. So- so he’s been living the life I should’ve had this whole time.”

“Is he for real?” Etho asks incredulously.

Jimmy’s throat is dry. “I- I don’t…”

“Just admit it!” There’s a manic light to Bravo’s eyes. “The Tango you all know is just a facade, a front. He’s been lying to you all for a decade, and he would’ve kept lying if I hadn’t shown up. Right, Tango?” He addresses Tango suddenly, expression twisted into pure rage. “I know what you really are! Do you fucking hear me?! I’ve seen what Hels players are like, and as soon as they find out, you’re done! You-”

Bravo breaks off. His words dissolve into a strangled bubbling sound as he chokes around the arrow that’s suddenly appeared in his throat. Then he disappears in a puff of respawn smoke.

Scar lowers his bow, features drawn into an uncharacteristic glower.

After a moment of shocked silence, Grian rounds on him with a frustrated shriek. “Scar!”

“What?” Scar defends. “I got tired of listening to him!”

Grian throws his arms up. “He might’ve had more information-”

“Forget that guy,” Joel says urgently, stepping forward, “what about the others? How’d they even open a portal here?”

“Well, if Scar hadn’t killed him, we might’ve found out-”

“What if they come back? Grian, can you ban them?”

“No, I can’t ban them, Joel, this is a private world!”

“We have to do something!”

More voices join into the frantic conversation. It all turns to static in Jimmy’s ears, fading into the background. He takes a second to look at his surroundings.

Their quaint little wheat field has turned into a war zone. The soil is trampled and stained with dark patches of blood. Wolves pace the area restlessly, panting and whining and growling, white fur streaked red.

Jimmy turns his head to look at the ranch. Roaring flames flicker through the shattered windows, a plume of dark smoke billowing above the roof. Embers flutter through the air like ambient particles. He can tell just by looking that there will be no saving it, that the building and everything inside it is lost.

Smoke stings Jimmy’s eyes. The reality of their situation finally catches up to him, and suddenly he’s crying. He buries his face in the crook of Tango’s shoulder and sobs, holding him tighter than what’s probably comfortable, but Tango doesn’t react, doesn’t speak. He sits motionless in Jimmy’s embrace, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he hasn’t turned to stone.

The ranch burns behind them, and Tango says nothing.

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player respawns in an empty room.

Bravo sways where he stands. It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dim lighting, to the stark absence of a sun. Residual adrenaline crawls across his skin. His heartbeat roars in his ears. His heavy breathing rings out harshly in the quiet room.

The reality of what just happened abruptly crashes down on him. They lost. His chance at freedom, his years of planning, gone- dissolved into a messy, chaotic battle and fumbled first impressions. All because Atlas couldn’t quit while he was ahead.

Rage takes Bravo swiftly, his vision turning red.

Moving quickly to the ender chest in the corner, he pulls out a spare sword and pickaxe. He uses the pickaxe to break his still-charged respawn anchor, the item popping into his inventory. Then he puts his pickaxe back into the ender chest before turning on his heel, slamming the button on the wall, and storming out into the hallway.

His pulse thrums with every step. His grip tightens on his sword. His teeth grind together so much, it aches.

He’s so fucking sick of this.

Just goes to show that he can’t trust anyone in Hels. He never should’ve relied on anyone but himself to find a way home. Now that Atlas has shown his true colors and left them all royally screwed, the way forward has suddenly become quite clear.

Bravo’s feet take him to the portal lab without even thinking, the path now so familiar to him. The large room is full of noise and activity; all of Alisker’s hired cronies used communal respawn anchors to set their spawn, so now they’re just milling around aimlessly like the dumb meatheads they are. They haven’t even thought to put on their spare armor, sitting forgotten in a chest by the wall. Some help they turned out to be.

Atlas is already there, of course, having cut and run rather than let himself be killed. He’s standing before the portal, which now has an empty frame, and typing rapidly on his communicator.

“Hey!” Bravo shouts. The room falls silent.

Atlas turns around. “Ah, Mr. Bravo!” He spreads his hands with a beseeching smile. “Welcome back. Now, I realize things didn’t go quite as we had planned, but I can assure you-”

“What the hell was that?” Bravo snaps, stalking up to him. “You had him! You fucking had him, and you blew it. You just had to get carried away tormenting a perfectly innocent player for no goddamn reason. If you’d just taken Tango and left, none of that would’ve happened!”

Bravo can tell he’s struck a nerve from the way Atlas’s grin tightens. Nevertheless, he neatly folds his arms behind his back, quirking a brow.

“Is that so?” he asks calmly. “You think the other players on that world would have welcomed you with open arms?”

Bravo scowls. “I- I mean, at least I could’ve explained things to them!” he insists.

Atlas rolls his eyes. “Yes, because the reception we received was so warm and understanding.”

Bravo makes a frustrated noise, throwing his hands in the air. “They showed up when we had two of their players in chains, what- what were they supposed to think? No, if you guys had left, things would’ve been different. I could’ve-”

“You give yourself far too much credit, Mr. Bravo,” Atlas interrupts cooly. “And it seems I might have slightly underestimated how effectively Tango would be able to endear himself to his new servermates. I didn’t anticipate such strong resistance from them. But now that we know what we’re up against, next time will be-”

“Next time?” Bravo echoes disbelievingly. “Uh, no. No, no, no, there will be no next time. I’m done. You- you think you can just switch up on me like that, and I’ll just- I’ll run right back to your side? No, that’s not how this works.”

Atlas tilts his head. “Oh? And how does this work?” he asks, sounding amused. “Because from where I’m standing, you have no other choice. I am the only one with the means to send you home- or have you forgotten?”

Bravo scoffs. “Uh, I think maybe you’ve forgotten that you need me to open a portal.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Atlas amends, inclining his head. His grin sharpens. “But no one ever said you had to help us willingly.”

He snaps his fingers, and the gathered enforcers rush in.

“Asshole,” Bravo says, lifting his sword.

The years he spent alone in Hels have taught him how to fight against much bigger, stronger opponents. Being smaller has its advantages. It’s all too easy to slip under an outstretched arm and jab his sword up, piercing the joint socket. One sharp twist and the arm dislocates with a loud pop, nearly muffled by the player’s scream. Then Bravo drives his sword down, through the ribcage and into the heart.

Poof. The screaming stops.

Moving quickly, Bravo tucks his chin and rolls- head, shoulders, hips- to dodge another player’s fist, bringing his sword across the back of their legs in a clean slice. The player goes down hard, falling forward onto hands and knees- in the perfect position for Bravo to lop their head off.

He vaults over their body as it respawns away, landing a kick in another player’s gut as they rush forward. They double over, now within reach. Using his free hand, Bravo grabs a fistful of their hair and rams his knee up into their face. Crack- bone shatters against bone. The splinters push backwards into the player’s brain, killing them instantly.

Bravo’s vision is flooded with red. His heart is pounding. Adrenaline is coursing through him and it feels good. Slash, slash, jab. Lunge forward, draw back. Punctured lung, slashed jugular, disembowelment. Keep moving. It’s nothing that hasn’t been done to him before, while trapped in this hell.

It’s nothing they don’t deserve.

(The smell of blood is overwhelming. In his mind’s eye, he sees Tango, snarling with fierce eyes and bloody teeth. He wonders if that’s what he looks like right now, and then banishes the thought just as quickly.)

Absently, Bravo realizes that the players are still just respawning in the lab, enabling them to quickly reenter the fight. As good as it feels to release some of his anger, he can’t fight them forever. And they don’t seem to be trying to kill him- if they get the chance, they’ll just restrain him, chain him up, so they can use him to open another portal. And then there will be no getting free.

So Bravo holds his sword up to his own throat.

That makes the players back up, but Atlas laughs. “Save your energy,” he says loftily. “There’s no point. I’ve already sent reinforcements to your room; you’ll be apprehended the moment you respawn at your anchor.”

Now it’s Bravo’s turn to grin. “Oh, you mean this respawn anchor?” he asks, pulling the item from his inventory and dropping it on the floor.

Atlas’s smile drops clean off his face, eyes widening with realization. He assumed Bravo would immediately rush out from the room to confront him. He didn’t think Bravo would have the foresight to break his respawn anchor. For once, Bravo is genuinely, unexpectedly, one step ahead of him.

There’s something really fucking satisfying about that.

“Stop him!” Atlas shouts, rushing forward. But he’s too late.

Bravo raises his middle finger before drawing the sword across his neck.

And then he’s at spawn.

Bravo’s hands instinctively fly to his throat, half-expecting to feel blood as the phantom sensation fades from his body. He forces himself to take a few, steadying breaths (he’s never killed himself like that before). Once he’s reasonably sure he isn’t going to pass out, he takes a look at his surroundings.

Spawn is exactly as he remembers it- which is to be expected, considering the anti-griefing perimeter. Netherrack and basalt, flame and sulfur. A grim reminder that he’s in Hels again, with the memory of the overworld still fresh in mind.

Anger threatens to overwhelm him. He pushes it down.

“Bravo…?”

The quiet voice comes from somewhere above Bravo, making him jump. He whirls around and cranes his head up.

Not-Jimmy is there, perched on an outcropping of stone.

The black-winged avian hasn’t changed at all since Bravo last saw him, either. Still sickly pale and deathly thin, with big, watery eyes that hungrily take in Bravo’s appearance, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

(“Oh! Um, I’m Jimmy?” says a golden-winged avian with a smile like the sun.)

Bravo stares back at him for a moment, inexplicably struck by the urge to laugh. Right. Of course one of the first players he met in Hels turned out to be the doppelganger of his would-be soulmate.

After a couple fragile seconds, Not-Jimmy spreads his wings out and glides to the ground, landing just out of reach from Bravo. “Is that… really you?” he whispers. “It’s… been so long…”

“Yeah,” Bravo says. “Not-Jimmy, right?”

Taken aback, Not-Jimmy nods. He clearly didn’t expect Bravo to remember him.

Bravo had made the connection earlier, but now he can see it. The color scheme is off, of course- black instead of gold- but the foundation is there. They have the same bone structure- that sharp jawline, that strong chin. If the face was more filled out, if the hair was shorter… he’s taller than Bravo even with the hunched, closed-off posture and drooping wings. If he weren’t so emaciated, he’d share Jimmy’s broad frame. If the skin was tanner, if the eyes were brighter…

Not Jimmy, not quite- but close enough.

Bravo tilts his head. “Is there somethin’ else I can call you?”

Not-Jimmy hesitates for only a moment. “Timmy,” he says softly. “My… my name is Timmy.”

Somehow, it makes perfect sense. “Timmy. Alright.” Bravo crosses his arms, jerks his head to the side. “You wanna get outta here, Timmy?”

Timmy’s eyes widen. “Wh- you mean… leave spawn?” he asks, wringing his hands together. His bedraggled wings flutter anxiously and send a couple dark feathers into the air. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he wants to move closer to Bravo but can’t quite commit.

“No, I mean leave Hels,” Bravo says, lifting his chin. “I know how to make portals, now, so I’m definitely not hanging around this dump for another ten years. Once I get everything set up, you can come with me. But we can’t stay here, we’ve gotta get moving.”

Timmy bites his lip. “I… I dunno, Bravo… it’s dangerous-”

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Bravo holds his hand out, a hint of desperation seeping into his voice without his permission. “Just- just come with me, okay?”

“... okay,” Timmy says, taking his hand.

Bravo smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not yet. There’ll be time for that later. His mind is still racing, residual adrenaline making it difficult to string together coherent thought, to properly plan out his next steps. But this much, he’s certain of.

If he can’t have the sun, he’ll learn to love its shadow.

~*~

#hels to pay au #HTP fic #hermitcraft #double life smp #hels hermits #my writing #buckle up bc there's a LOT happening in this one

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aquaquadrant · 2 years ago

Note

Why do I feel like Etho and Patho would actually really get along well. Like there'd be a minute of "oh shit" then they'd be making some weird machine together.

Also any chance you would be willing to share the story about Patho's clock and maybe info on Hels Bdubs?

(honestly? true. patho isn’t bothered enough w the concept of being a doppelgänger so he’d be chill w etho if etho was chill with him. and etho’s like. always chill. anyway idk if this’ll answer ur questions but here’s uhhhh something)

~*~

patho pauses at the top of the netherrack hill, boots hissing briefly as he shifts off a magma block.

xyz: -12,485.167 / 67.09835 / 253,295.942

the coordinates ever-present within his field of view tell him he should be another hundred or so blocks away in the z axis, but he can already see the jungle’s grown since his last visit. it’s been slowly overtaking the neighboring nether waste biome for a couple decades, now. rate of growth has held constant, unchanging. that's something, at least.

patho slowly scans the horizon. words and numbers flash across the left half of his vision as his cybernetic eye rapidly processes new information based on visual input: netherrack, netherrack, crimson nylium, grass, jungle wood, jungle wood, jungle leaves, weeping vine. light level 3, 3, 3, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4. there's a lava pool eleven blocks over in the x axis; light level 15.

he starts walking again.

153 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 23/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 18 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,487.331 / 65.21091 / 253,375.987 block: -12,487 65 253,375 chunk: -780 15 7,835 facing: south (towards positive z)(1.5/5) client light: 5 (0 sky, 5 block) biome: error:nether waste local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 5/247 + 0/8

the data shifts with every step. he's learned to tune most of it out by now, only paying attention to the biome indicator as he crosses the chunk threshold.

biome: error:crimson jungle

particles and sounds immediately jump up a couple degrees. glowing red specks dance slowly in the air, mingling with the ambient noises; hoglins rooting around in the brush, parrots calling unseen from the canopy above, lava bubbling in a pool nearby.

p: 35 sounds: 23/247

the temperature is warmer here. patho shrugs off his jacket, letting it hang at his elbows as he picks his way through the jungle. he doesn't even need to think about where he's going, coordinates left ignored at the edge of his vision. he's taken this path many times before, and he never has to wander very long.

his boots crunch softly on the nylium and grass terrain. jungle leaves and crimson fungus alike brush at his shoulders as he ducks underneath branches, taking care not to get tangled in weeping vines.

this is his favorite jungle. it's not the only crimson jungle he's ever come across- not to mention the warped jungles- but out of all the biomes he's seen, it's the one with the greenest leaves. something about this jungle sustains the normal trees just as well as it does the fungi, allowing the grass and leaves to stay bright and full instead growing in wilted and brown. it makes a lovely contrast with the blood red fungi.

not for the first time, he's thankful that the jungle is far enough away from spawn to be left alone. if other players knew about this place, with its well-sustained passive mob spawning and greenery, they'd destroy it for resources for sure. but he never worries too much about that possibility, because no mob or player sets foot in this jungle without permission from-

a weeping vine suddenly sprouts from the ground and lashes around patho's leg.

it's quickly joined by several more, snaking out from the undergrowth to wrap around his other limbs. before he can blink, he's lifted off the ground and pulled up into the trees. he doesn't struggle, doesn't panic- this is nothing new to him. the vines string him up among the highest branches, where a familiar figure is crouched in front of him, nothing but a pair of glowing red eyes beneath a heap of moss.

<player>dat -7063fdce-39ac-4a12-d836-a990c45b2bb0

"hey, dbubs," patho says casually.

the figure straightens up, hood falling back to reveal his face. his huge red eyes are sparkling with excitement, despite the dark circles lining them, and his mouth falls open in a wide, sharp-toothed grin. vines of varying shapes and sizes curl lazily around his body, small tendrils sprouting from the mossy cloak he wears. a couple veins of red discolor his skin, crawling up his neck and across his face. his messy hair is a bit whiter than the last time patho saw him, tinged red at the roots. a clock hangs around his neck, to match the one hanging from patho's hip.

"patho!" dbubs practically shouts, throwing his arms out.

sounds: 24/247

before dbubs can say anything else, patho asks his usual question. “what’s your name?”

“what’s my-” dbubs blinks, works his jaw for a second. “GODSLAYER666,” he proclaims loudly, puffing his chest out. then he pauses, frowns. “wait, no, i- i don’t know why i just said that. uh…”

it’s somewhere in the middle, then. not as bad as his worst days- at least he’s aware he’s lying, even if he has no control over it. and patho has to admit, that's one of the most entertaining responses dbubs has ever given to his little test.

"uh huh." patho shifts in the web of vines. they're holding a bit tighter than normal. of course, he could still easily break out of them. if he wanted to. "did you miss me, dbubs?" he asks instead, his voice teasing.

dbubs throws his head back to let out a sharp laugh, sending a shower of red particles fluttering through the air. "what?" he demands incredulously, his eyes blown wide. "miss you? i d- eugh, n'you stupid- i- i didn't even notice you were gone!"

patho hums with amusement. "then you don't wanna, like, kiss me or anything?"

"no," dbubs insists stubbornly, even as he comes closer. he steps boldly into patho's space, hands coming up to grab his face. "no, no of course not, i don't..." his long eyelashes flutter as he looks patho up and down. he smells like moss; like old vegetation and decay. there's soil and dried blood caked under his fingernails. "why would i- you ha- you have a lotta nerve..." dbubs tugs at the left strap of patho's mask, tilting his head. "do i- uh, do i get to see ya?" he asks, expression suddenly eager.

"yeah," patho chuckles.

dbubs grins widely, pulling patho's mask down. for a moment, he just looks at him. his calloused hand scuffs along the metal parts of patho's face- the entire ramus of his left mandible and most of his cheekbone, lost in the explosion that took his eye. the remaining skin is rough with scar tissue. dbubs strokes his thumb along that, too.

"i lo- um, i- i hate your stupid face," dbubs mumbles before he finally kisses patho. he seems to process his words a second later, breaking away with a small gasp of "oh! i d-", but patho simply leans in again, reclaiming his lips.

he knows what dbubs meant.

~*~

dbubs spares patho the trouble of walking, simply having the vines carry him to the hideaway. it's a difficult base to categorize: part tree house, part nest, part garden. in some places the floor is made of wood- in others, just a thick layer of leaves. there are potted plants and hanging vines everywhere, interspersed among stacks of barrels and moldy bookcases. little red mushrooms sprout from walls made of thatch and tree trunks. a couple of shroomlights provide gentle lighting as glittery particles drift through the open air; red, from the biome itself, and green from the spore blossom that patho brought him last year.

the vines unceremoniously drop patho onto the makeshift bed- a mat of moss and old, shredded banners. he's barely gotten settled, pulling his mask up and pulling his jacket off, before dbubs flops onto him with a heavy wuff.

"so!" dbubs starts loudly, propping his elbows up on patho's stomach. "what brings ya to see ol' dbubs today, huh?"

patho huffs a laugh. "what, i can't just stop by to say hi?"

"oh sure, okay." dbubs rolls his eyes, one of his vines flicking through the air dismissively. "you j- yeah, okay, be all secretive, then! see if i care." his haughty demeanor doesn't last long, though, as he shimmies up a little further, arms folded on patho's chest. "d'you- uh, do you wanna hear what i've been doin'?"

patho sighs good-naturedly, shifting so he can tuck his arms behind his head and lean back against the wall. "alright, go ahead."

dbubs beams at him and immediately starts telling lies. he tells patho about all the amazing things he's built (the jungle looks the same), all the incredible battles he's fought (no one's entered the jungle in years), all the wonderful places he's gone (he can't leave the jungle).

but patho doesn't mind that it's all lies. he's content to listen anyways.

they carry on like this until dbubs suddenly pauses, scrambling for his clock. "uh oh! gotta schreep."

patho glances at his own clock; dbubs is right on time, as always. that's one thing he never lies about. "okay, okay," he says, pushing dbubs off- he hits the moss with a soft thump. "lemme get my anchor."

"well, hurry up already!" dbubs shouts impatiently, vines swatting at patho's arm as he pops down his ender chest.

after placing the anchor and setting his spawn, patho reaches up and presses his finger directly into the center of his left eye, shutting it off.

he doesn’t regret putting a data processor into his cybernetic eye; the information it’s given him is invaluable. but every now and then, he needs a break from it. even when his eyes are closed, the display is still active, showing blank values on the back of his eyelid. turning the eye off is the only way to make it go away- of course, at the price of half his vision. so he only does it if he’s sleeping somewhere fully secure, and if he’s alone.

the jungle is an exception. dbubs has full domain out here- no mob or player can come close to his home without him allowing it.

"finally," dbubs huffs as patho settles back down. he's quick to cling with both his arms and assorted vines.

patho can't help but chuckle. "what's that you said about not missing me?"

"oh, shut up!"

~*~

patho abruptly reenters consciousness, emerging from a deep, dreamless sleep. with a soft groan, he fumbles to turn on his cybernetic eye, wincing at the sudden influx of data.

149 fps t: inf fancy-clouds b: 15x15 3 tx 3 rx c: 695/41672 (s) d: 16, pc: 000, pu: 00, ab: 42 e: 1/109, b: 0, sd: 9 p: 52 t: 109 error fc:0 xyz: -12,587.412 / 96.77253 / 253,401.623 block: -12,587 96 253,401 chunk: -783 15 7,845 facing: north (towards negative z)(1.5/5) client light: 7 (0 sky, 7 block) biome: error:crimson jungle local difficulty: 6.75//0.00 (day error404 not found) sounds: 27/247 + 0/8

"goooood morning!" dbubs calls, over on the other side of the little nook. he's busy rummaging through barrels, perhaps trying to find some breakfast. it’s unlikely he has any food stored; when he’s hungry, he hunts, and the jungle always provides.

"mornin'," patho says, rubbing his face. he sits up- and then pauses. there are weeping vines wrapped tightly around his legs. he sighs. “dbubs, you’re doing it again.”

“what?" dbubs manages to sound surprised. "no! no, i’m not, i’m- i’m just over here, minding my own business, crafting a loom.”

“a loom,” patho repeats flatly.

“yes! for um, for banners.”

“do you even have any wool?”

“do i ha- uh, of course! yes, of course i do.”

“can i see it?”

“no. no, i- i just ate it, actually. um-”

“you ate it?”

“yeah. sorry.”

patho sighs again. he kicks the weeping vines away. "i uh, i didn't mean to be gone for so long," he says, rising to his feet. "but, you know, i- i got held up with a job."

"a job?" dbubs glances over his shoulder at patho, squinting. "what kinda job?"

patho stretches his arms above his head, hearing both his natural and mechanical shoulder joints pop. "some guys out west are tryin' to make a portal out of hels."

"a portal?" dbubs's mouth falls open. "oh, for goodness sakes- and you call me a liar!"

patho knows better than to take offense. "it's true. they've got a player who came here from another world."

"uh huh." dbubs scoffs, but he can't quite hide the anxious shimmer in his eyes. "yeah, yeah, sure... so- i mean, did you do it, then? make them a portal?"

"basically." patho shrugs. "i uh, i told them everything they needed to know, to make one."

"right. you told th- okay." dbubs nods, bites his lip. "um- you didn't stay? to see the portal? or, uh…”

patho chuckles, crossing the distance to put his arms around dbubs's waist. "nah. i mean, come on, you know me, dbubs. i'm a- i'm a hels player, through and through. what's the rest of the universe got that's better than this place, right?"

dbubs grins at that, slotting his arms through patho's. "oh, you- you're such an idiot! y'know, i uh, i've been outside'a hels before and i- um, let me tell ya, you're missing out!"

"mhmm." patho smiles even though his mask is on. he knows dbubs can tell.

"yeah! "dbubs nods vigorously. "and, uh, there's- i got a whole world that's just mine!"

"is that right?" patho rests his chin on the top of dbubs's head. "tell me about it."

"it's a beautiful world, of course. my perfect builds, i ha-"

"of course."

"- uh, hey! quit interruptin'!"

"sorry, sorry."

"i di- thank you. so i um, i built a big ol' crastle, with a- hyeugh, a sorta um, horse course... y'know, with th- with the fastest horses anyone ever saw, one-stick horses, and- and uh, everyone was really impressed…”

this won’t last forever. it’ll only be a matter of weeks, months if they’re lucky, before patho won’t be able to ignore the itch to wander again. before the comfort and familiarity of the jungle becomes unbearable. before dbubs grows so used to his presence that the jungle itself tries to overtake him, the way it has dbubs- vines and veins of red.

he’ll leave without warning in the middle of the night, while dbubs is sleeping, because trying to leave while dbubs is awake never ends well. he’ll leave without a word and try not to think about the frantic whispers he knows dbubs sends him on lonely nights, despite knowing patho will never receive them (it’s the only time he regrets fusing his communicator with his arm- but how was he supposed to know he’d hear it in his mind? how was he supposed to know that disabling the chat was the only way not to lose himself completely to the endless flood of data?)

he’ll stay away long enough for dbubs to shatter apart, losing himself to the wildness of the jungle, and come back together. he’ll wait until dbubs has recovered from his grief, so that the next time dbubs sees him there will only be joy. because no matter how many times patho hurts him, dbubs always forgets it eventually.

“… so, you see, ol’ dbubs been workin' on a new technique, using the uh. grade- uh, gradient? block palettes... to create depth. ah hah! so- so listen, now, to teacher! it all starts with the color scheme..."

this won’t last forever. so for now, patho closes his eyes and listens.

error fps t: b: tx rx c: (s) d: , pc: , pu: , ab: e: , b: , sd: p: t: error fc: xyz: / / block: chunk: facing: ( )( / ) client light: ( sky, block) biome: error: local difficulty: // (day error404 not found) sounds: 1/247 + 0/8

~*~

#hels to pay au #HTP fic #hels hermits #hermitshipping #ethubs #<- i mean SORTA #pathbubs #in case it’s not clear patho’s mech eye basically acts like a debug screen #like when you press F3 in mc to see a bunch of data and stats #he can always see that info. prob less cluttered tho bc there aren’t any computer specs for him to look at LOL #anyway don’t look too much into the data values i was pulling them out of my ass #except for dbubs player data. DO look into that :3 #ALSO ty everyone for the asks i’ll get to em soon #my writing

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