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sassyshoulderangel319 · 3 months

Text

Time to Go

This is definitely not my usual writing style or a fandom I write for very often. I just have a little headcanon about Skizz and I wanted to explore an idea where Scott stayed in the world of Last Life for a little while after winning. Enjoy, perhaps? 2.1k words

—

"I can hear you, you know," Smajor says to the empty landscape, still devastated by the fighting. No animals spawn here anymore. The others in the arena were too careless, leaving nothing behind. But since they all vanished, it's like he doesn't need to eat or sleep anymore to survive. Phantoms don't even spawn. This arena has been abandoned.

Except for him.

And the voices that don't stop.

They're dreaming, he knows it. All of them dreaming. Suspended in some void. Unable to wake until he joins them. All of their souls are tied together. Tied to these games.

Whenever he tells them all to pipe down because he needs to think, no one ever replies. Not directly anyway. He was pretty sure he heard Martyn say "sorry" once. Just a quiet mumble.

Smajor doesn't rebuild the landscape. He doesn't care. This place was just another map of misery. It was fun, to some degree, but fighting one's friends does get heartbreaking after a certain point. And after Ren killed Pearl... all of his emotions seem to have fled with the souls of his friends. Leaving him empty.

Instead of rebuilding, Smajor works. Tests his limits going beyond the border. He can't survive long out there. Yet. But if he can break the border... maybe he can flee into the wilds beyond. Flee the violet-edged moon that stares down at him like an eye. Flee the memories. Flee the numbness and the pain.

But breaking the border is no easy feat. The power that holds it there is infinite and stubborn.

But so is he.

Every day, he mines for all the redstone left deep below. He stays awake all night, killing creepers for their gunpowder. He knows TNT won't be able to break the border, but he doesn't know what might, so he tries everything.

And still, his friends dream. Their minds echoing all around him.

Smajor sits in one corner where two border walls meet, a small pile of redstone and another of gunpowder on a crafting table beside him. He's never tried mixing redstone and gunpowder before. Maybe there's something to that...

"Smajor?"

With a jolt, he looks up.

A light shimmers near the border wall a few blocks away. White, tinged with yellow. Nothing like the moon's cold stare.

"I know that voice..." Smajor says, almost an invitation for an introduction. He pushes himself to his feet, watching as the light shifts and twists.

He blinks in surprise as it solidifies. A pair of vibrant blue eyes—glowing in the sunlight—smile at him. The figure is familiar. The eyes give the figure's identity away, sure, but so does the outfit. It takes a brave person to wear a suit with the sleeves torn off.

"Skizz?" he asks.

That invites an even broader smile. "Wussup homie," Skizzleman greets.

"You're... you're dead, though," Smajor says. "I heard your scream for blood." The crimson stars still dance around Smajor's hair, their light gathered in his throat where he swallowed the bloodlust of the Boogeyman, and then the bloodlust of a Red Life, forcing it all down.

Skizz chuckles and reaches up to push a hand through his hair. It's brown-black again, not red. At first, Smajor thinks Skizz has somehow acquired an elytra. But rather than purplish-grey, it's white. Flashes of a twelve-foot god with a bit of green in his brown hair and white wings strike Smajor's memory like lightning before they're gone again. "Yeah... sometimes I say things like that when I'm Red," Skizz remarks, sounding embarrassed.

"How are you here, Skizz?" Smajor doesn't dare get closer. Yet. Skizz is still glowing like the sun is directly behind him, instead of overhead.

"My friends helped me. But I don't have long," Skizz says. "The Others... they're trying to force my friends away from here."

"What do you mean? Our friends are tied to this place until I'm gone."

Skizz shakes his head. "Not those friends." He leans back, casually, against the border wall. "I have friends in... other places too." He clears his throat. "They're trying, homie. Trying to break the cycle."

"Who are they? How could they break the cycle?"

Skizz doesn't answer immediately. He looks up, staring straight at the sun without so much as a wince. The glowing light coalesces even more, ringing the top of his head in a band more solid than Smajor's stars.

"Let's just say... we're the same kind of folk that The Others are. But we split apart... a long time ago. We haven't gotten along since."

Somewhere in the void, still tied to this arena, Smajor hears Martyn... talking to someone. Usually the dreams are short snippets of sentences. This is a full—if distant—conversation.

Smajor and Skizz both cock their ears as though to hear the directionless sound better.

Skizz smiles. "Martyn always was special," he says. "Closer to the Veil than most of the others."

"The Veil?" Smajor asks.

"Look, homie. I don't gotta lotta time. Basically, you can't stay here forever. The Others want you dead. G-man and I are fighting them every waking moment. And I know it's breaking his heart, even if he does hate them as much as they hate you for breaking the rules of their game. But we can't fight them off forever. There's two of us and, right now, there's two of The Others. But they're older and more powerful. Original. We're just... converts, if you will. You can't linger here much longer. If they get to you before your soul leaves this world... it'll be shattered into pieces. There won't be nothin' left of you. Even Grian won't be able to put you back together."

Smajor waves his hand. "Wait. Who are these Others? Why do they hate me for not playing their game?"

Skizz takes a deep breath and looks to the sky again. "You wanna take this one?"

The disembodied, dreaming voice of Grian groans in complaint. "Fiiine. I wanted you to handle this, Skizz."

"Well sure, homie, but those guys are your area of expertise."

Grian sighs. "One moment."

Smajor lurches as a black-tinged-with-purple portal rips a hole in reality.

Grian steps out.

But he's not quite the Grian that Smajor has known all these years. The "elytra" on his back is more black than grey, and shines a darker violet than most enchantment glimmers. Rather than a red sweater, a black-and-purple robe that seems to be lined with stars underneath drifts around his ankles in a nonexistent wind. His eyes are closed, but others—spectral, vibrant, violet—drift lazily around him. Even his hair is slightly darker. On the chest of the robe, a broken, square-ish symbol burns purple.

"We're called Watchers," Grian says, not bothering with preamble or beating around the bush. None of his many floating eyes meeting Smajor's. "I wasn't always one. There used to only be two. They chose me to become one of them after I..." Grian shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now. It was a long time ago. They—we—feed on emotions. Any will do, but the easiest ones to illicit and consume are the negative ones. Misery. That's why the other Watchers made this cycle. To keep feeding on yours. I ran from them, down here, to undermine their meal ticket, as it were. I make it fun for all of us, and make their meal a little worse. They hate you for the same reason they hate me: because you refused to play their game the way they wanted, and denied them that control and that energy to feed on. And I'm sorry, but I'm almost out of power. I don't want to feed on my friends and I'm only one converted Watcher. The other two have always been Watchers. Their powers run deeper than mine, and I can't... I can't defend you forever. I've been trying. And I'm starting to lose."

Smajor looks over at Skizz. "And you?"

"My kind are called Listeners," Skizz says. "We're the same race as the Watchers, but split off a long time ago. Rival factions, you could say. Our self-appointed job is to try to protect those the Watchers go after." Skizz fixes Smajor with an intense look. "Now don't you go getting mad at G-man, okay? He never asked to be turned into a Watcher and he didn't want to be one. He didn't get a choice. And neither did I. So be nice, you hear?"

Smajor eyes Grian. "I'll... do my best, but no promises."

"Look. The only way to get you out of here—"

"—is to kill me. I know."

"It's better this way. For now. The Listeners are trying to rescue us all from these cycles, but there's only so much they can do. It's a slow thing because they have to conserve their power," Grian says.

Skizz pushes off the border wall and stands nearly toe-to-toe with Smajor. "If you join us back in the void, the drive of the Red Life will leave you alone for a while. You'll think clearer than you have in weeks."

Smajor inhales deeply through his nose, his stars twisting faster. "I was trying to save you all." He blinks hard to keep the tears from falling. He's tried so hard for so long... all for nothing...

Grian smiles slightly. "We know. Skizz and Martyn can hear you the best. They've told us all in our dreams. But this is bigger than just one person. Bigger than you. Bigger than me. Bigger than Skizz. Bigger than all of us. We appreciate your effort, but it's time to go. Please."

Smajor stares as Grian extends a hand. Another spectral purple eye blazes on his palm. Skizz's "elytra" flares, revealing feathers.

"Come on, homie. There will come a time for all of us to escape this cycle. But it's not now, and it's not your burden to shoulder alone," Skizz says.

Smajor swallows. "Okay."

He sets his hand on top of Grian's.

Whose black eyes open and flare violet along with all the floating ones as thunder booms.

Lightning strikes.

Smajor1995 fell out of the world.

Skizz looks down. His form is starting to dissolve back into light, starting with the ring around his head. "Don't have long," he says.

Grian nods. "We need to get back." His own fingers begin to look transparent. "This whole arena is going to turn back into potential for the next one." His many floating eyes look around. The world is already falling apart at the seams. Grian takes the last breath of fresh air he'll get until the next time the Watchers throw his friends into a new arena for a new game and he descends to join. He prefers fresh air to the void. Anyone would.

"Thanks, G," Skizz says. "I know it takes a lot for you to manifest in a dying place like this without help. At least I've got the other Listeners to bolster me."

Grian shrugs, his wings whooshing with the movement. "It's fine. You were right. He needed to hear it from me," he replies. "See you soon."

Skizz suddenly looks uncomfortable. "Actually, buddy. Not for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"I gotta take more time to recharge. The other Listeners are going to protect me for one cycle so I have time to build my power back up. Next time you're in an arena, I won't be here. But count on me for the next one."

"If there is a next one after, I'll hold you to that."

Skizz smiles. "I'd expect nothing less." He takes a step back, and dissolves completely into light that immediately fades.

Grian sighs and stretches. Without the other Watchers' power to bolster him, it takes a lot of concentration and effort to appear physical, rather than astral. "See you all soon," he says to the dreams of his friends.

He swears he can almost hear Martyn’s chuckle in response. The Veil was always thinner for Martyn than any of the other Evolutionists, even Grian before he became a Watcher. Martyn just had a natural ability to communicate with the Watchers and Listeners. Even in their extra-dimensional, astral forms on the other side of the Veil. Seems like nothing has changed with him since Grian’s Ascension.

Grian smiles sadly. Martyn’s ability is probably causing him more misery than the others, since he’s the only one who knows why these games keep happening.

“Stay strong,” Grian whispers directly into Martyn’s dream.

Black and purple shadows swirl around him.

He returns to the void.

—

“Just… tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?” Martyn asks the bodiless voice.

Hmph. HIM. He was never meant to be there, the voice says. He was only ever meant to WATCH.

#Listener!Skizz #Watcher!Grian #watcher grian #traffic light SMP #Last Life SMP #scott smajor #smajor1995 #CW: caps #dangthatsalongname

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