Fire Brings Death

Darkest Before The Dawn

Teleporting into walls didn't really phase him much.

The crippling fear was dead and buried along with the many other hatchets lying six feet under. He no longer was sent into a frenzy when he made a mistake. The walls welcomed him with a suffocating embrace. They gripped him tight and squeezed the air out of his lungs with little to no remorse.

It didn't mean it didn't shock him, though.

Accidentally teleporting into a wall wasn't pleasant. It slammed into him like a bucket of icy water he hadn't been prepared for. But it didn't frighten him. More like a minor inconvenience.

Scott's body tingled as he teleported out from the mound of dirt and grass he'd unintentionally managed to teleport into. He was lucky he wasn't claustrophobic. Being trapped inside the dirt and grass wasn't nice. It was as if he'd been buried alive and couldn't escape. Like no matter how much dirt he clawed his way through, there was always more to get through. He'd never be able to get out. It was just an endless purgatory he could never flee from. The weight of the dirt would crush him.

His knees buckled and he collapsed.

Shaking, Scott tried to stand. His legs seemed uncooperative and refused to hold his weight. Many times he fell to the ground. Many strings of curses passed over his lips and swirled on the breeze.

Eventually he succeeded in standing.

Slowly, he approached his house. The path of grass and dirt underneath his feet served as a reminder. Dirt clung to his clothes. The ground's grubby fingers grabbed at his feet repeatedly. Scott did his best to ignore it. He kept walking, drawing nearer and nearer to the door.

He made it inside.

---

Jimmy still felt himself falling.

It was just meant to have been some friendly revenge. Nothing more.

It wasn't meant to end in him plummeting to his death.

He should have been more careful. He should have watched where he was stepping. He should have been able to make it out unscathed rather than dying.

He was a world class idiot.

Panic had overtaken him. His senses screamed at him to do something over then just freeze. To run. To try and find something in the walls to hold onto. To move in any way possible that meant he might be able to live.

At least he didn't have to feel much more than his body falling.

He died soon after he touched the ground.

But he hadn't been respawned yet. For now, he was floating in some kind of limbo that he couldn't escape from. Just existing. No point or purpose other than to exist. That was all he could do for now. Exist and wait for himself to be reborn as something new.

Maybe the world would be cruel and give him wings or immunity to fall damage.

Or maybe it would make him even more vulnerable to it.

Fate was fickle, but fate was also cruel.

---

Martyn would kill for his colin-y.

The snowy and semi-friendly creepers in boats in his house. He'd slaughter every single person on sight if someone even petted one of them wrong.

And currently, surrounded by their soft snowy coats, their warm eyes and their curled horns, he couldn't be happier.

He could lose them. All of them. The reality of it would never escape him. If one player saw the colin-y and got spooked and attacked when he wasn't around, then they'd be gone. Permanently.

At the thought, he approached Colin E and hugged the snowy creeper tight.

Martyn couldn't afford to lose them.

Any of them.

He hummed quietly, a song he'd heard in passing. He hadn't paid much mind to it before, so many parts of the song were lost, but he recalled the main bits of it. It was far from complete, but it was still a song.

Colin E made a small noise as if joining in with the song.

Smiling foolishly, Martyn's humming crescendoed. Other Colins joined in. He'd made himself a choir of creepers.

He pushed the thoughts of losing them out of his mind.

Martyn was content to be in the moment with them.

Writing Prompt #1

The Divide impacted everyone. The earthquakes were relentless, splitting the ground. Smoke descended from the heavens and covered the sky. The sun was gone, turning its back on us all in shame. We'd torn it all apart.

And we didn't regret it.

Fields of Green, Rivers of Red

Scott nervously tossed and turned in his bed. The duvet felt itchy, too stifling on such a hot night, and too heavy as well. He kicked his legs, curled them up against his chest, then did some strange poses with them. One arm was tucked under his pillow, the other draped across the other side of the bed.

It was one of those nights when he wanted to shed his skin and fly free again. He wanted to tear himself apart, if only so he could feel the blissful emptiness again.

Anything was better than this.

He shivered despite the warmth, and tore back his duvet to go for a midnight stroll.

Silent, he snuck out of his house, past Gem's, and over to the diving board. He considered it, briefly; it was by far the fastest way to get down, but it was one of the louder ways. Could he risk it?

He glanced over his shoulder. There were no lights in Gem or Impulse's houses, which implied they were asleep, but sometimes that wasn't true. There had been instances where he'd been caught by one of them when he thought they would be asleep. This time, though, maybe he'd get away with it.

Scott shuffled towards the edge of the diving board. He felt as if he'd climbed to the top of a mansion and was about to make a risky jump, but it was either take the risk or die.

With infinitely less stakes than that, Scott stepped into the air.

He felt the air whip at his body as he plummeted down. An image in of himself, with gold-tipped snowy owl wings, falling in almost the exact same way, popped into his head. That happened more and more now, as the games progressed.

He collided with the water. He kicked his way to the top and broke the surface, panting heavily. He was soaked to the bone, and as he clawed his way onto dry land, he immediately regretted his decision. The water clinging to his skin, dampening his clothes and dripping from his hair irritated him.

Ah well. It was too late to turn back now.

Scott began to walk to Spawn, nervously eyeing the statue they went to hand in their Secret Tasks. He felt his very essence begin to pulse like a heartbeat, but multiple laid over each other.

The statue seemed to stare into his soul with its eternal judgement.

He sat down next to the button to reroll for a harder task. Scott pulled out his comm and typed out a message. Very few people would still be awake, but if he was lucky, then maybe he could not be alone tonight.

A reply was sent back. He exhaled in relief, eyes scanning the message, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Scott sat back, all tension leaving his body. He stared up at the moon and watched it make its nightly rounds in the sky. If he squinted, he could make out the vague shape of a howling wolf in the shadows cast across the moon, and a he shut his eyes with a small breath.

He opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps, and spotted four figures approaching; two blonds, one ginger, one brunette. Behind them was a white-haired man walking leisurely beside a man with dark brown hair with a coloured streak in it.

"Hey," he said, lamely. Cleo settled in beside him, slinging her arm over his shoulder. He leaned into her. Cleo was a constant that he could count on, across all the games; she was the ally he was guaranteed to have no matter what.

Martyn sat on his other side, Pearl next to him in turn. Grian perched himself in the centre of the structure, and Etho and Joel eventually arrived. They sat down on the floor against the button that signalled failure.

"Couldn't sleep?" Martyn asked. His cheeks coloured a little after he spoke. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Scott's hand reached out to the blond's and took it, squeezing it gently. Martyn looked down at the gesture with a soft smile.

They could all feel the malice radiating from Martyn; it was hypnotic, a blind lust for blood that caused a tingling sensation to spread through their bodies. It was a very familiar feeling, and it was one they did not fight against. Instead, they welcomed it.

After all, they were already awake.

What did it hurt?

"Crazy day today, huh?" Joel remarked. "I mean, my wife died, for one thing. Mumbo died."

"That's just life now, I guess." Pearl replied.

Scott nodded in assent.

Grian smiled. "Well, maybe in another game we can change it up."

Over the course of the night, the group moved in closer together until they were all huddled up shoulder-to-shoulder, laying across each other.

The night went on. The moon made its rounds with indifference to the collection of mortals beneath it.

Eventually even the Winners could not stay awake. They had all seen life, death and betrayal, and had learned to sleep with one eye open. But here, there was no need. Here they were among friends.

They let the night take their waking worries away.

Bertha's Lament

Forever aside, Left to abide By the rules that she set Not allowed to forget

Watching them thrive Barely alive They took my prize In front of my eyes

But I'm not done yet They've not passed the test I'm waiting for my chance For my powers to enhance

I'll reclaim what's mine All in due time And none of them have a clue What they're helping me do

I'll undo my curse Then put her back in the hearse My power I'll enrich And become the Supreme Witch

Rebirth

Some people thought that being given a new origin, a new chance at life, was painful. Essentially, their DNA was being rewritten at an impossible speed to comprehend. Blood would boil ferociously like torrential waves in a storm, skin would bubble and burst, bones would crack and pop. Organs would shift proportions and positions to accommodate new things; additional or less organs than before, larger internal power sources.

Others thought it was painless. A pain that would never be felt. Their bodies would go numb to anything except for a faint tingling that ran through them like miniature jolts of electricity.

It was both, and neither.

---

Jimmy knew it well. He knew the cold clutches of the Void, an endless expanse that none could run from. He knew the wandering eyes that spectated everything he did. Knew the ears that pried in on every conversation, every tiny and insignificant sound. Knew the voices that whispered, buzzing with a variety of emotions, mostly excitement.

For once, he could feel the phantom burden of heavy wings on his back. Bright yellow, practically glowing, and fluffy.

Canary wings.

Hands glided across his skin with light and feathery caresses.

The voices all said the same thing: Mine. Mine. You belong to us. You are ours. Our little canary. Your life is ours.

A shiver ran down Jimmy's spine.

Because he was theirs, wasn't he? They moulded him. He was made to be whatever they wanted. They were the gods and he was the human they sculpted out of clay.

So even when their touches hurt, even when they got possessive, he did nothing.

What was a mortal to a god?

---

Sparrow couldn't remember the last fragments of his life as a human. Perhaps that was for the better.

It must have been painful. Right? It didn't seem like a painless process. Even though he couldn't feel much anymore, he could still feel a phantom ache in his chest where is lungs once were. His body was smaller. Colder, due to the copper metal of his skin. Not human at all.

A machine. Just like the ones he used to make.

It was ironic, really. The creator became the created.

The dullness in his body would never leave him. Like a parasite that latched onto him and refused to relinquish its grip. A constant reminder of what he did in order to become one of them.

Because that was all he wanted, wasn't it?

To be one of them.

---

Scott couldn't really comprehend it.

The Void encapsulated him. Accommodated him. It let him teleport to his heart's content, even if everything was the same ever-stretching expanse of darkness.

Sometimes he wished he could still feel the nausea from teleporting. To feel something, anything, other than emptiness.

But that wasn't an option.

He could feel his body being changed. Pointed ears, antlers growing from his skull, gills and fins, a gold eye that saw magic, scars on his arms from an injury he couldn't remember, a long rat's tail, sharpened canines. Blurred flickering memories. Hundreds of weird mutations, an amalgamation of parts.

The strings of each world were wrapped around him in a suffocating embrace.

And then he was reborn.

Gold Is Appealing

The crown weighs heavy upon its wearer's brow. Each passing day makes the crown grow heavier, and the wearer grows wearier with each day. Some say that a curse had been placed upon this crown during the first brawl to take place over its ownership. That, in the bloodshed of the rulers, the crown had been cursed to bring death and misfortune in its wake, and that any who wear it face cruel and startling punishments. For some, this means betrayal from one whom they'd loved, being poisoned in their own domain. For others, the crown brought magical powers beyond their own control, causing a harsh and gruelling winter to befall their lands.

It is needless to say that the crown had been swamped with misery and famine since the first few days of its creation. And that it had been buried long ago for good measure.

Pix had failed to read that in his books. But to be fair, there hadn't been many accounts detailing this crown, and those that did contain information were...vague, at best. So he'd seen no issue with donning the crown and wearing it with pride. He'd made his rule, as the books had mentioned within his newfound capabilities, and for the short time of having it, Pix had almost enjoyed it. Not the power itself, no. In other circumstances Pix wouldn't dare do such a thing. But in the name of history, he simply had to, if only to keeep the crown's rich tradition alive.

Perhaps it had been this that caused his untimely demise.

During that tea party at Glimmergrove, Pix hadn't initially thought much when he started withering. He'd assumed that Katherine had found him. After all, he had seen that Katherine did kill those that she managed to find. All in good sport, of course. The respawn ability every ruler shared was used not in life-or-death situations, but mostly as a measure of strength; a way to test how long one may survive against a terrible foe, or when they're on the brink of death from poisoning.

But when he did die, he came back...different. A ghost. A spectral figure that startled the other rulers upon seeing him. Pix had, quite literally, become as dead as history. He'd merged with it. Was that meant to be his fate all along? Condemned to live as a ghost after a light-hearted discovery and some innocent tradition-upkeeping? That didn't seem fair to him.

Scott had the crown now. At first he hadn't meant to acquire it. He'd simply stood nearby and accidentally retrieved the fallen things of the late Pix. And that meant he had to put out his own decree for the other rulers to follow. There wasn't anything he really wanted. Scott was a collector at heart; an adventurer. He'd spent a large part of his life travelling, permanently borrowing artefacts and living freely. It hadn't really been his intention to become King of Chromia, but he took it in his stride. In fact, he had been planning to continue his streak of permanently borrowing other people's possessions. So for now, he administered a simple task: build a statue, building or other form of structure for Chromia. He'd laid out the borders, and left it at that.

But upon his return home, he'd encountered a most peculiar note left for him. It requested that he create a Brown Mooshroom and take it to a place called the Hollow. Scott knew something bad or risky when he saw it. And this note definitely had sinister connotations. Would this lead to his death the same way Pix had perished? There was no real way to tell for sure.

The crown was laced in malice. None would know this. Perhaps a demon from the days of the past had cursed it. A demon that had cursed it as a last resort in case he was sentenced to death.

Who knows? All we know for sure was one thing.

That gold, the very gold within the crown, was appealing to all rulers.

What If Scott And Milo Were Engaged?

What if Milo and Scott were engaged, but never managed to get married?

What if the two were about to get married in a few days? A few weeks?

To me, the idea makes Milo's death kinda sad. He died before he and Scott could get married. He died before he could see the man he loved walking down the aisle (or the other way around? not sure). Before they could get married. Before he could stop calling Scott boyfriend or fiance and finally call him husband.

That gives Scott a lot more incentive. He wants to get his happily ever after. His dream wedding with the man he loved. He even built their dream house! Scott is a grieving man trying to bring back his dead lover, but fiance makes it worse.

Because if Scott succeeded, he could finally marry his lover. Or it could backfire. Milo sees what his fiance became, and breaks it off as a result. Scott won for nothing. He did everything for nothing.

The home he built, the one he and Milo had dreamed of having whilst Milo was alive, would only then serve as a reminder of what Scott could've had. Of how Scott had become a monster.

Thanks! Have a great day/night!

Bertha Theory/Character Study (?)

So I saw the video Bertha had, and this came to my mind.

To start with, at the end of the video, Bertha mentioned something their sister did to them. Now I immediately thought that Bertha's sister sabotaged them and became the Supreme Witch. But then why does Bertha bother hosting a competition for the role of Supreme Witch when they had been told their whole lives that they were worthy of the role? So now, I present to you...

What if Bertha is cursed? Cursed to be everywhere and nowhere, and never be fully present in the world? They commune with the animals, can instantly see their lives, apparently sold their soul to Scott (which kinda confused me for a sec - can't tell if that was a joke or not) and they don't seem to talk much to the other witches outside of the Dungeons. Even Pris touched on that in the video! So what if Bertha is cursed to forever remain semi-present in the world?

I think of it as the Curse Of The Entity. Because Bertha did mention that they were an Entity. So what if this curse basically turns anyone into an Entity? The doors that alone could open is unbelievable: Scott could use it to bring someone back, Tiff could fulfill Mother Nature's orders with it, Joey could prove himself to the frost mages, and so much more!

So yeah. Bertha has a curse placed on them by their sister to forever be an Entity, never fully able to live their own life and enjoy themself.

How's that?

I'd Hate To Do This To You On Your Birthday

Martyn stared at the world below. Today was meant to have been his birthday. And, sure, he'd had fun, but there was just something almost sad about it. Something poetic about celebrating his birthday in the midst of the death games where he'd die immanently. If it were anyone else, maybe they'd come up with a decent metaphor for the situation. But as it was, Martyn wasn't really a poet.

He watched the night sky calmly. The swirling pools of ink dotted with smidges of liquidy purples and wisps of navy. Small twinkling stars that smiled down on the participants of the cruel games being enacted, as if they were completely amused by their primitive actions.

The stars were as clever and calculating as they were beautiful. Almost like Scott, in a way. His ally had been talking about strategically-placed pufferfish and strategically-placed dolphins for a fair while, and even though only the pufferfishes had been done, the ideas he'd come up with were quite admirable. There was no reason to doubt why Scott had won the death games twice.

The moon had a tranquil glow that night. Instead of its taunting and menacing light, something calmer shone down on their small pocket of land. Like Pearl. Pearl, who only for a few hours, had been acting somewhat odd. She no longer seemed like the woman Martyn had known throughout the games. Her voice was slightly different, for one.

Martyn couldn't help but smile to himself. Today had been so hectic that it was...nice to take a moment to breathe. No one else was up here with him. He was alone. And, while normally Martyn liked the company of others, he couldn't help but enjoy the calm complacency he was in. There was no chatter to fill the air. No breathing alongside his own. No whispered promises, stolen kisses or silent laughs shared between friends. No agonising memories to dwell on as his mind constantly compared current moments to those of the past.

He was alone. But he was happy.

In this game, where you could never prevent the clock ticking, it appeared senseless to just do nothing. Why do nothing when you could be out there, killing others to take their time from them? When you could be spending time with loved ones? When you could be setting traps to ween down the remaining numbers?

Martyn didn't have time for that. Well, he did, technically, but that wasn't the point.

He remembered everything from the past. He'd killed a close ally twice now, once in separate iterations of the death games. He'd tried to win back his 'soulmate' to whom his life was tethered to after she left him. He'd tried so much to do so much.

Maybe now, on his birthday, it was finally time to rest.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," he sang to himself to fill the silence. "Happy birthday dear...me?" shrugging, he continued on. "Happy birthday to me." finishing the song, Martyn sat down on the floor.

Unbeknownst to Martyn the Stars and the Moon were singing that same song under their breaths to him.

The Petals Fall

They built their homes amongst cherry blossom trees.

Scott sat in his home and watched Gem and Impulse go about their days. He stared at the trees, the colourful leaves vibrant and elegant.

Sometimes he'd remember the past games. This area was like his first home, with Jimmy, back in the flower fields. And at the same time, it reminded him of his home with Martyn. Their houses were closely packed, like they had been in every life game he'd played.

He sat in his new home, on the floor, staring at his hands. Hands that had seen their fair share of bloodshed. Hands that had refused the call of the Boogeyman and were punished for it. Hands that gave into that call.

The trees outside were beautiful. He'd taken their wood and used it for his home. Scott couldn't help but admire them. Even from afar.

This was the start of a new life. A life where, in future life games, he would be reminded of by small things.

Gem waved at him when she saw him. Scott waved back.

"You coming?" Impulse asked, his hand stretched out towards him. When had they gotten into his house?

The others were behind them; Martyn with coral on his clothes and messy hair; Cleo, hair tumbling down her back, eyes glinting with joy and tranquillity; Pearl with her wolves at her side and her hood pulled over her head; Jimmy with his ridiculous outfit and kind smile.

Scott felt the lightning bolt pierce his chest. He screamed, body convulsing.

He opened his eyes and they were gone. All of them. Their bodies surrounded him, bloodied, with their heads turned to face him. Bile rose in his throat.

They weren't real. They weren't real, none of this was real. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. He was in his home, Gem and Impulse outside.

"Scott?" Gem called out. Her hair fell over her shoulders and for a moment she looked like Cleo. "Are you coming?"

Impulse grinned, joyful and playful. Like Jimmy's smile.

"Yeah. Just give me a second."

He took several deep breaths.

It was a new life now. A new chance to make new bonds.

A chance to have those bonds broken.

Scott stood up and approached the door. Heaving a final breath, he tossed it open and stepped into the light. Impulse grabbed his arm and tugged him along.

Gem ran up ahead, beckoning them towards her. Scott shirked off Impulse and sprinted forwards.

"Race ya!" He yelled. A laugh spilled from his lips.

Behind him, four petals fell to the floor.