#the last winner has to kill the most recent and there's technically nothing in canon that says I'm wrong so

[rainyinautumn]

Scar does not lay down and die. He’s fought too hard to go out like that.

It’s a strange feeling, to know that he’s in full control of when he dies. No one chasing him down, no ticking clock, no curses. Sure, he doesn’t have regen, but he has a full row of hearts—a whole life ahead of him that he can spend in Sunflower Valley.

He doesn’t remember until he arrives that there’s nothing for him there. It’s about fifty percent craters. Some of them are blackened by the wither, and others by gunpowder. Despite it all, though, there are still sunflowers. Not many, but they’re facing his way when arrives, as if trying to be the welcoming party he never had. Scar sits down at the edge of one of the craters and swings his feet back and forth over the drop. It’s not deep enough to kill him, hardly even deep enough to take a heart off of him. The ash settled at the bottom is picked up by the wind, blowing into Scar’s boots and hair. He doesn’t wipe it out. It’s his only reminder that he wasn’t always alone in this world.

Across the crater, the air shimmers purple. Before Scar can figure out what it is, the color coalesces into a ghostly figure with a faint halo that shines just like the sun. Grian smiles at him wanly and holds out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs.

“You’ve won, Scar,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

“But I’m not ready yet,” he objects.

“He didn’t get me any flowers,” Scott mutters as he sits down beside him, transparent and crowned with a dozen tiny stars. “Trust me, you’re ready. You’ve won. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I never had much anyway,” Scar says coolly. “Can’t say this feels too different.”

“I know.” Pearl’s voice comes from his other side along with the soft glow of the moon, and his heart aches, unwilling to turn toward her. “I know, but the game’s over, Scar. You did well.”

He wants to tell her sorry, but that would be disingenuous. He wouldn’t change a thing about that fight—the only thing he regrets is that it had to be her.

“More than well, I’d say.” Martyn takes shape in the center of the crater, his coral crown glittering the angry red of Mars. “I’m loving the trend of villainous winners we’ve got going here. Who do you think’s gonna be next? Joel? Gem?”

“Maybe we’re due for a more heartfelt finale,” Scott says, sending a sidelong glance Scar’s way. “No offense.”

“Didn’t you win through a battle royale?” he retorts.

“Didn’t we all?” Grian sighs. “It’s just the way of the game. Killing people. It’s a bit hard to get a heroic winner out of that.”

Scar stares at his feet. “I thought I’d feel more relieved,” he admits. “Like I’d- like I’d, y’know, won something. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, it’s all just kinda…”

“Empty?” Grian fills in for him.

“Disappointing?” Scott suggests.

“Sad?” Pearl says.

Martyn kicks a rock. “Fleeting?”

“One of those things,” Scar sighs. “So… now what?”

“I already told you,” Grian huffs, tired but good-natured. “It’s time to go.”

“Die, you mean,” Scar says. “It’s time for me to die.”

Martyn draws an axe that looks far more corporeal than the rest of him. “It’s my turn to take you out,” he tells him. “I was planning on a nice quick beheading, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scar stammers, scrambling backward. “I don’t get to choose how I go?”

“Well, sort of,” Grian explains. “You’ve won. The only thing that can take you out now is another winner.”

“Pearl zapped me when my time was up,” Martyn says. “Didn’t hurt for more than a second.”

“And what if I don’t let you?” Scar asks.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, but it goes right through. “There’s no way around this, Scar.”

“Martyn has to kill you,” Pearl reiterates. “It’s not up to him, or us, or you. No one can move on until you’re gone.”

“Says who?”

Grian gestures broadly at the horizon. “Who do you think?”

The Secretkeeper looms in the distance, a dark sky overhead. It’s watching him. Scar knows it is. It’s waiting, impatient as ever, for its final task to be completed.

Martyn hefts his axe over his shoulder. The move should be threatening, but there’s no malice in it. His hand sits firmly on the handle, white-knuckled and duty-bound, but the rest of him is relaxed. He doesn’t want this to be a fight.

“I guess everyone’s waiting on me, huh?” Scar says. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks up to Martyn and kneels, removing his hood to expose the back of his neck. He feels the cold edge of the axe blade placed against it and screws his eyes shut.

“Any last words?” Martyn asks.

“I’m taking away all your reputation points for this.”

He laughs, genuine and nostalgic. “Fair enough.”

The axe lifts, and a breeze ruffles Scar’s hair as it comes back down on his neck.

There’s a searing flash of pain, and then nothing. His eyes stay closed, staring at the darkness.

“Scar,” Grian says, his voice closer than before. “Scar, it’s done.”

He blinks warily, taking a moment to process the view he sees. The rest of the world now has the shimmering transparency of the ghosts, while the other winners are now solid and real in front of him. Grian is still holding the bouquet—when he extends it to Scar, it changes shape, twisting into a flower crown.

“Wait,” Pearl says. “One last thing.” She waves her hand and two glowing sunflowers wrap themselves into the wreath, blooming side by side. “There.”

Grian steps forward, right in front of Scar, who’s still kneeling in the center of the crater. “Congratulations, Scar,” he says. “You won.”

The crown is a perfect fit.