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writing-the-end · 4 years

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Exodus- Part 7

Previous Part

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU by @theguardiansofredland )

It’s all too good to be true. The kindness that has welcomed Impulse in this strange Edolas world. How much he wants to believe them, how much he fears being tricked again. How much he fears being alone again, even when he runs from company.

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I love a good hurt/comfort, but how about we turn that on it’s head, and give comfort/hurt? FINALLY team ZIT is back together! Only one more part after this, one more part to this story that I’m honored to share. All of these ideas are the creation of Red, from the Edolas characters to the bottle scene, he’s really a clever mind! And I love them!

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language.

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Impulse has to get out of here. Despite everything around him, all the people around him only offering kindness and calm, Impulse just knows this isn’t right. This has to be some kind of trick, some sort of ploy by the city. None of this is real- not the gentle nature of Cub and Doc, not the quirky scientist that’s become of Xisuma. It’s all fake, it has to be.

This time, Impulse is smarter about his escape. He removes the needle as carefully as it had been replaced. He wonders who did that- was it this strange Xisuma? Or someone else he’s yet to meet? Impulse also turns off the monitor before removing the clasp around his finger. It’s nighttime, and Impulse is banking on the fact that no one is keeping watch at his bedside to make his escape.

He messed up. This isn’t the End. According to this weird version of X, they call their world Edolas. That’s not where he was supposed to be. He wants to be in the End, far away from anything and everyone. Just another lost item among the void. Impulse creeps along the hospital floor, resting his hand on the cold metal door handle. In the darkness, the white of his bandages are like beacons, and the haggard white shirt he still wears practically declares where he is.

Impulse quietly opens the door, looking down the short hall. There’s a door at the other end, and through that window he can see a waiting room. That’s his escape. Impulse scurries across the hall, opening the door and shutting it quickly.

He’s not alone in the lounge. In the corner, two forms whisper to one another. The lights are off in the building, making it hard to see who they are. But Impulse doesn’t need to see them to know- he can hear their voices.

“Our prayers have been answered, it’s really him.” Zedaph whispers, looking up to see his friend’s face.

Tango flutters his angelic white wings, feathers ruffling together. “As much as I don’t want to believe it… he looks like him. He called himself Impulse. Our wishes actually worked.”

The two turn their heads as they hear a sniffle, peering into the darkness. A pale, thin form stands at the door into the infirmary, eyes welling with tears. He looks like a ghost, and for a minute Tango really thinks that’s what he is. But the broken voice as Impulse speaks is all too real. “T-tango? Zed?”

Impulse stumbles towards them, his legs giving out beneath him. Tango crosses the distance in a few short strides, grabbing hold of Impulse before he can find himself on the floor all over again. Once he’s regained his strength, Tango steps away. Taking in the sight before him. Zedaph steps between the angel and the stranger, staring at him.

It truly looks like their Impulse. That wisping brown hair, ruled by a cowlick that always makes his hair look like he just woke up from a long slumber. A sharp nose set between inquisitive eyes, thin lips hiding dimples between each cheek. Just a little bit taller than Zedaph, and the palest of the three.

All three have tears in their eyes, welling and falling across their cheeks. All three, going through the same thought process. Is it really them? They thought they’d never see the other again. The silence prolongs, unspoken questions shared among each face.

Zed steps forward, daring to break the distance between himself and the ghost before him. He reaches out, placing a shaking hand to rest on Impulse’s cheek. The room goes quiet, Impulse shrinking away from physical contact. But, after a second, he can’t hold back. He leans into the warm, comforting touch of his long lost friend’s hand.

Tango’s hand reaches up to cover his mouth, agape as all three finally lock eyes, and realize what they see is real. They’re really there, it’s not some horrible nightmare or a ghost. Impulse reaches up, taking a light hold on Zed’s hand as his eyes rove across Tango. Zed’s hand reaches up, grabbing hold of his chest, trying to be still the leaping of his heart. “Impulse?”

Cascading streams streak down their cheeks, all three collapsing into each other’s arms and to the floor. Crying and bundling close. The gang is finally back together, the unstoppable trio, shattered and glued back together through sheer will, prayer, and luck. Massive white wings, plumaged with soft feathers wrap around the other two, holding them into a hug. Whispers of disbelief and relief mutter across the darkness, punctuated by sniffles and short bursts of laughter.

For Tango and Zedaph, it’s every wish, every prayer finally answered. Impulse has returned to them. Years and years of mourning, of wondering how they could possibly fix what they did wrong, and now he’s finally in their arms again. They can finally see his smile, the warmth of his laughter. They were a set, three pieces. And without the last one, they were incomplete.

For Impulse, it’s a dream too good to be true. That Tango and Zed also escaped the city, made it to this strange new world like him. After being forced to leave them, to go on when they were separated. To abandon them, they are actually here. He can finally watch Zed’s excitement bubble up from his tapping feet to his bouncing curls, Tango’s cautious but excitable eyes light up with a new idea. He was alone, left without his best friends.

For a brief moment, everything was right for Impulse. Nothing else but his friends mattered. Until small cracks in his joy began to appear, the voices in his head telling him none of this is true. Its all a lie, a farce. Suddenly the small details become huge. Tango never had angel wings. He was from the nether. Zed wore clothes he’d never be caught dead in, looking more like some prophet or preacher than the fellow engineer.

This isn’t real. Impulse’s grip loosens, and he pushes away from the hug. This is too good to be true, too wrong to be right. He scrabbles away from the two, leaving their arms reaching out for him as he presses his back against the wall. This is all fake, a farce. A trick, more of the city’s way of messing with his mind. The same way he can’t have escaped- there is no escape. That the Xisuma he’s met isn’t really real, it’s all just another horrible trick, a conspiracy.

Tango reaches out, palm up and offering for Impulse to take. A pact with a ghost. Impulse stands, swaying as the blood rushes from his head. “You… you’re not real. This isn’t real.”

“Wait, Impulse!” Zed slips as he tries to stand, falling over on Tango’s wing. But it’s too late- Impulse is gone.

He escapes through the door, stumbling outside into the moonlight. The full moon is bright, illuminating the dark streets as if floodlights shine from the sky. Impulse hops over a hedge line, taking off towards the hills. Back to running, trying to escape this nightmare. Will he ever stop running?

He’s not sure if he can. He’s already limping, before he’s even made it into the hills. Impulse scrabbles up gravel and stone, trying to ignore the voices calling out for him. Ignoring Zed’s voice, the crack in his cries for him to return. Ignoring the wing beats of Tango’s plumage, until both disappear over the mountains. And it’s just him again.

Alone again. The adrenaline in Impulse’s body falls away, and the aching pain of his wounds rise up. His sprint turns to a limp, the cold mountain air burning his lungs and the bandages on his ankle and arm starting to fall apart. Far from the town, from the illusions and the tricks played on his mind. But out here, he’s just lept from one danger to another. He may be free from prying eyes and ears, but he’s exposed. Out in the open, the cold wind biting on his skin and the distant sound of monsters shrieking ever closer.

Impulse stumbles, but catches himself on a rock ledge. He’s not going to fall. Not again. Freezing snow nips at his exposed arms, turning his skin blue and leaving his body shivering. He needs to find shelter. He needs to keep going. He can’t ever stop. He can’t last out in the cold. Each step becomes smaller, slower. He’s just shuffling through the snow, moving forward the only thing on his mind.

The further away from people he gets, the further away from their tricks. He knew this was all too good to be true. He can’t have escaped, he can’t have found his friends. There was nothing for Impulse anywhere. No place for a mind like his, curiosity beyond what’s natural. Seeing monsters in the shadows, ghosts in the darkness. There was no place he could trust, no one he could trust. Not even the warm, inviting hugs and welcoming tears of his friends. It was too good to be true.

Impulse staggers into a small cave, hand running along the cold stone outcroppings. He hops down a few levels, until the wind has abated and just the damp cavern air grips at his warmth. Impulse slides down the wall, holding his knees close to try and keep in the last vestiges of warmth. His head tips back, watching his breath turn to a million ice fractals in the air. He knew that wasn’t really Tango and Zed. Not that things were too perfect- no, they were too imperfect. Strange, characterized versions of his friends. It was a trick, another way for General X, Doc, and Cub to play with him. None of this must be real. Not the kind faces of Doc and Cub, not the quirky mad scientist of Xisuma. Not the angelic Tango, or the zealous Zed.

But how much he wanted it to be true. How much he just wanted to let the lies become real. That these were the same friends he left behind, that somehow they were here. Reincarnated, brought to this world they call Edolas. And he’d be fine with that, letting himself just become a part of this strange Edolas world. To be...Edolas Impulse.

But he knows he can’t let that happen. He can’t let himself fall from the last ounce of sanity he has left. He can’t let himself be tricked, by anyone else. Even himself. Those aren’t his friends, this isn’t his world. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong anywhere.

Impulse shivers, head growing light and body suddenly becoming warm. His eyes droop, until he can’t stay awake anymore.

#yay reunion #edolas au #edolas hermits #hermitcraft au #edolas impulse #impulsesv #hermitcraft impulse #edolas zedaph #edolas zed #zedaph #hermitcraft zedaph #edolas tango #tangotek #tango tek #notice how the dystopia au tag disappeared?

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star-captain · 4 years

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So Much Better

Angst? Yes please! I’ve had the honor to give Red’s au life, to create a story around his amazing artwork. And I can’t help but latch onto the dramatic scene of Edolas Mumbo meeting his Hermit self.

The Edolas team has found themselves in the Hermit world, and are meeting people with the same face, but different personality. Edolas Mumbo’s insecurities rise and boil over when he comes face to face with a better version of himself.

Edolas AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Warning: Alcoholism, Violence, drug mention

It’s been some time since the hermits have been open to visitors from other worlds. A new world can be stressful, and it’s best just to keep to themselves while they sort it all out. Better to deal with their own chaos before adding in someone else’s. But eventually, trouble finds them.

From the Edolas world, it was just natural to explore what’s beyond. Xisuma makes it impossible not to be curious about what’s on the other side of his crazy portals he macgyvers together. And when Scar ultimately pushes Mumbo in, Grian has to jump after. Everyone else follows in after, with Impulse being dragged in last by an overzealous Zedaph. Black ground bursts out from the portal, massive stone pillars capturing the energy of floating crystals between the tongs. Purple mist swirls beneath the glass at their feet, every so often lightning snapping across the cloudy air.

“Oh, that definitely didn’t take long.” Scar chuckles, peering over the nether portal. “Though I definitely was expecting visitors of the more...pig variety.”

“Scar?” Edolas Grian coos, tilting his head and looking at the man above the crowd. He has the exact same face, the same voice as Scar, but he acts completely different. He’s...well, he’s cheery, friendly.

“That’s not me man.” Edolas Scar growls, looking at the dopey version of himself before him.

“Aha! I knew it! Alternate Universes! Worlds with the same people, experiencing different choices!” Edolas Xisuma scrabbles up the smooth obsidian monument, practically hopping onto Scar and scaring the daylights out of him. “They are obviously nothing like us! I mean, this Scar here is in his underwear!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the infinity portal forgot my pants!” Scar whines. He looks across the group, pushing the feral scientist off his perch. They all look like his friends, and yet nothing like the other hermits. It’s creepy. It’s cool. It’s magical. “You should definitely check out the other hermits, then. They’re a pretty awesome bunch, if I do say so myself.”

“If they’re anything like you, they’re bound to be strange.” Mumbo grumbles, keeping close to Grian. He’d rather just go back to his world. He doesn’t want to meet with whatever there is out in this world. And he definitely doesn’t want to see what his alternate self is like. If he’s nothing like Mumbo, then he’s obviously not cool. He’s obviously a dork, a baby. He’s probably...Mumbo shakes the thoughts away from his head. He’s not letting those thoughts give themselves credence. If only he had some vodka on him, there’s no faster way to get rid of such thoughts.

So of course the first person Scar offers for them to see is this world’s Mumbo. “I think him and the other Architechs are doing some sort of get together. I know Iskall and Mumbo are partners, but I don’t know what Grian has to offer. Cactus maybe?”

“Why would this place’s Iskall want to partner with Mumbo? I can hardly stand this jackass.” Edolas Iskall sneers, glaring at Mumbo. Mumbo flips the bird back, hiding it from Grian. He knows Grian doesn’t like getting into arguments, but Mumbo thrives off conflict. He tries to keep it hidden from his friend. To keep him from getting anxiety from the tension.

“Mumbo is a really cool dude. Trust me, his work is amazin. “ Scar cheers, guiding the crew into the depths of the jungle, heading westward. “He’s super smart, he makes these machines that just blow my mind with all kinds of redstone.”

“Definitely the opposite of our Mumbo. I don’t think he can count to ten...unless it’s ten shots.” Edolas Scar hisses, stepping way too close to Mumbo’s personal space for his liking. Mumbo shoves him away, muscles tightening as he listens to Scar talk. Both Scars are beyond annoying, for different reasons. The Scar Mumbo knows is annoying because he’s a prick, a jackass who can’t shut his mouth unless it’s broken for him. This ‘hermit’ Scar is annoying because he won’t be quiet about things. He won’t stop talking about all the amazing achievements that his Mumbo has done. An entire company with automated delivery, walking houses and hands-free machines.

The more Scar talks about Hermit Mumbo, the more Edolas Mumbo hates him. He’s smart, and popular. Even this Scar likes him. Mumbo, on the other hand, struggles to even keep Grian around. Why would Grian want to stay around him? He’s not smart, or popular. He’s not jubilant or silly like this one seems to be. No, Edolas Mumbo is a piece of shit with nothing good to his name. The only thing he’s smart on is the best kind of drinks and drugs, he’s only popular when it comes to seducing people.

The group arrives at the quiet river, the potatoes growing before the circular hovel nestled in the hillside. Across the river, a series of machines are running at lightning pace. Xisuma can’t help being drawn to the inventions, optimized to give the best products in the shortest amount of time. Iron farms working nonstop, sugarcane growing as fast as possible, and a smelter cooking without a single coal wasted.

“Hey Mumbo! I have some friends that would love to meet you!” Scar yells, poking his head through where a door should be. It seems Scar isn’t the only one to fall victim of the Jungle Bandit.

“I wouldn’t say ‘love’.” Mumbo hisses. He winces as Grian slaps his shoulder lightly.

“Be kind, Mumbo. We’re guests, and you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover.” Grian whispers.

Three familiar faces peer out the massive glass window. All three are easy to identify, though some more than others. Iskall still has his emerald eye, but rather than an eternal frown on his face, his cheeks are creased with dimples. Grian has an evil glint in his eye, practically rushing down the ladder to meet the strangers at the doorstep.

The two Mumbo’s simply stare at one another. The same face, same black hair and smooth mustache, on completely different people. Hermit Mumbo’s hair is slicked back, neat and tidy. His mustache is well trimmed, and he wears a well tailored suit. Edolas Mumbo’s hair sticks out in every direction, like he just woke up from a drunken stupor. Probably because he did. Piercings litter his face, cool metal brushing against his frazzled mustache and hair. Mumbo looks at his clothes, dirty and stained with alcohol and...well, other things. He just grabbed whatever was the least dirty, wore it out to party last night then fell asleep in it.

Hermit Grian flies up, locking in on his counterpart. Edolas Grian squeaks, hiding behind Mumbo. “Whoa, I look good in every world.”

Grian tugs on his bowtie, gulping as he dares to look closer at himself. Hermit Grian can barely keep still, bouncing from foot to foot and even fluttering the elytra wings on his back. Mumbo steps back between the two, seeing the mischievous glitter in Hermit Grian’s eyes. He’s seen that kind of trouble before. This one is a little shit. A gremlin. Nothing like the ball of anxiety behind him. Edolas Grian couldn’t even knock over a punching bag without apologizing.

Hermit Grian looks up, surprised by the angry face. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen Mumbo make that kind of a stare. Daggers cutting through him, like some terrifying biker or punk rocker. “I don’t know if I like Mumbo with ear piercings however.”

“Tough, because they’re staying.” If anything, now he wants to get more. Just to spite the gremlin in front of him.

“You’re me?” Mumbo questions, appearing from his hobbit hole. “Wow...I look...I look…” Mumbo is at a loss of words, glancing over his Edolas counterpart. He looks badass, like some guy who knows how to find trouble and win. He’d make a better mole than Hermit Mumbo.

But under the gaze of Hermit Mumbo, Edolas Mumbo can feel every part of him being scrutinized. His sloppy dress, the alcohol on his breath. Every insecurity, every vice and weakness is under a microscope.

“This is the man of the hour, let me just say. I mean, look at this awesome iron farm he just built!” Scar waves the group over to Mumbo’s work. “How many iron ingots does it make?”

Hermit Mumbo scuffles his feet, blushing. “Oh, something like 3,000 ingots and hour. It’s not the fastest, but it’s more than enough for me.”

Mumbo rolls his eyes as the others gasp in awe. What a waste of energy. Who even needs 3,000 ingots? Mumbo can think of a thousand better things to waste his time on than making such ridiculous contraptions. Hermit Mumbo is just lazy. Smart, smarter than Edolas Mumbo, but surely he’s lazy.

At least, until he starts to show his current project. Edolas Grian gravitates towards Hermit Mumbo, enjoying the calm and funny personality. And that infuriates Mumbo. Even his best friend things this useless brainiac is better than him? Grian points at the half-finished machine, in awe with wide eyes. Wrapped into the conversation. “What does this do, Mumbo?”

Hermit Mumbo goes into some long winded explanation, and the second Mumbo hears his own voice, he tunes out. But he can’t help but watch as his own friends are rapt with Mumbo’s words. Xisuma is taking notes at a feverish pace, and even Scar is listening to the suited version of Mumbo.

No one is better than me. Mumbo reminds himself. He may not be as smart, or as popular, or as funny, or as kind as Hermit Mumbo. But he’s cooler. He’s sly, he’s independent, he’s the life of the fucking party. This guy… this guy can’t stop talking about t-flops or whatever.

Edolas Mumbo sneers as Edolas Scar looms close, resting his arm on Mumbo’s jacket. “Would you look at that. Even your best friend prefers this version to you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mumbo steps back, letting Scar fall flat on his face. But Mumbo looks at Grian, both Grians listening intently to Mumbo show off his spectacular knowledge. The machine starts to fire, turning the farm on and beginning it’s collection.

Even he is better than me. Mumbo can’t build incredible designs, machines that make life easier, that astonish and astound. Machines that Mumbo could never even begin to imagine, much less build himself. He can hardly even get the key of his own apartment into the lock most days. Mumbo can’t make friends, even the people he hangs out with most would rather eat fermented spider eye than call him an ally. He’s not funny unless he’s got a cocktail of drugs mixing up his mind and body. And the last thing anyone, even Grian, would call Mumbo is kind. He’s an asshole, a bastard. A rubbish friend and an even more rubbish person. A waste of space. A waste of time, a waste of effort.

Mumbo rolls his eyes, but he hears Edolas Grian’s bright voice over the amazement of the others. “You’re so cool, Mumbo! You can make all this incredible stuff, and you’re smart enough to explain it all. And kind enough to show us it all, I can’t imagine thinking of all this. This has to be why so many people ask you for help!”

Edolas Mumbo can hear something snap, like a bone breaking in his own mind. His own heart. Grian never called him smart, or kind. No one has ever called him anything except a bastard, or a fucker, or an asshole. He hardly feels his fists clench, looking at his own face. How long has Mumbo wanted to punch himself, to beat himself up? To give him what he deserves? How often has he looked in the mirror, drunk and high, and just wanted to knock himself out?

“Oh, it’s nothing really, mate. I’m honestly not that good, you should see something like Impulse.” Hermit Mumbo overs a shy smile, eyes closed as he smooths back his hair. His awkward chuckle is cut short as a rough grip wraps around his neck. Hermit Mumbo’s legs kick out as the raging grip raises him from the grass. He forces his eyes open, hand grabbing at the tattooed arm- of himself.

“Stop being better than me!” Edolas Mumbo shouts, fists shaking and a prick of tears burning at the corners of his eyes. Mumbo looks down the arm holding him up, head tipped high but eyes glancing down to see his own face. He gasps for air, holding onto the arm suspending him in the air. And despite being physically in peril, he can see that he’s not the one suffering as much as Edolas Mumbo. In shared grey eyes, he can see the pain, the fear.

Edolas Mumbo is terrified. Everyone thinks this Mumbo is so much better- because they’re right. He is a thousand times better than him. Scar prefers him, Xisuma prefers him. Even his best friend, Grian, prefers this Mumbo to him. They’ll ditch Mumbo in no time, in lieu of so much better a version. He’s nothing compared to the amazing, perfect person he has grasped in his hand. He’s just a bastard, someone that everyone hates. Someone that everyone wants gone.

“Mumbo! Stop it, what are you thinking?” Both Mumbos look over, seeing Edolas Grian with tears streaking down his face. Torn between wanting to tell his friend off for being so aggressive, and wanting to calm him down. But for Edolas Mumbo, seeing his best friend crying because of him lets him know that he’s done it again. He’s fucked it all up again, because he can’t handle his own emotions. He can’t control himself, he can’t be anything except a piece of shit and a walking disaster.

Mumbo let’s go of his own neck, lightly setting Hermit Mumbo onto his feet. The tiny tears have grown to full floods, guilt and regret and hatred all boiling over. Despite the soft landing, Mumbo still falls to his knees, trying to regain control of his heartbeat and body. He looks up, wanting to ask himself what the problem was. Why he was more afraid than Hermit Mumbo.

But he’s gone, a cavity bored through the crowd that surrounded him. Hermit Grian steps in, looking at Mumbo’s neck. It’s red, but not bruised. Despite the anger in Edolas Mumbo’s grip, he couldn’t bring himself to actually hurt another person for no reason other than wanting to bring pain to himself. Grian looks at the shaking Grian. “I think he needs some help.”

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“Mumbo?” Grian whispers, peeking his head into the empty bar. It’s midday, but he knew that if Mumbo was going to go anywhere, it was here. This is his favorite haunt, where he can get the cheapest prices on drinks, find the best new addictions, and hit up the next morning’s mistake.

There’s only two people in the dark, smoky bar. The bartender, who nods to the end of the line of stools. The darkest corner. Mumbo is surrounded by an assortment of bottles, shots, and whiskey glasses. Mumbo’s head is against the glistening and sticky counter, hand still clutching the current bottle. Grian creeps closer, clambering onto the stool next to Mumbo.

“I thought you’d rather be with that perfect version of me.” Mumbo growls, turning his gaze away from his friend. “And why wouldn’t you, huh?”

“Mumbo, I-” Grian flinches back as Mumbo snaps at him, cutting him off. He can smell the alcohol on his breath. This may not be the first time Grian has had to help Mumbo through a bout of alcohol poisoning. Hopefully he won’t need the hospital this time.

“Just leave me, get something better than this piece of shit. Someone smarter than me, kinder than me. Someone who can actually do something useful with their life. Who’s good at so many things. Redstone, being nice, being funny and friendly and smart and such a great person!” Mumbo grasps the bottle in his hand until the glass shatters, shards digging into his skin. Grian has never seen his best friend so low. He’s afraid, not for his own safety. For Mumbo’s. “And what am I good at? Nothing. Nothing except overdosing in an alley outside a bar.”

Mumbo’s head snaps to the side, cheek stinging and burning red. His eyesight is set straight, free from the drunken stupor for just a moment. Just enough to look back, and see Grian. With his hand still up, and his face creased with sorrow and tears. Deep valleys as he holds back his own cries. Not because he’s sad for himself. But sad for Mumbo. “How could you say such a thing? How could you honestly think that any of us would want you any different than who you are?”

“Because he’s-”

“Because he’s you? He’s not you, Mumbo. He’s got a different world, a different life. A different place that he grew up in. A different set of vices and worries than you.” Grian scoots the stool closer, forcing Mumbo to listen. “He’s smart, and kind. But that doesn’t make us ever want to get rid of you! You are wild, and clever, and there’s not another person in this world that would step into a fight for any one of us. Even for Scar, if it came down to it.”

“Great, so I’m just you guys’s bodyguard.” Mumbo hisses, looking at the glass buried in his fingers.

“No, Mumbo! Just...for once listen to me, for fuck’s sake!” The sharp curse that crosses over Grian’s lips is enough to snap Mumbo back to his words. Grian never swears, he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes for that. “We are your friends because we want to be! We hang out with you because we enjoy it! Just because one person is different than you doesn’t mean you’re any better or worse!”

Mumbo’s voice is gone from his lips, and all he can do is breathe in and out. He can’t think of any retort for Grian’s words. Just one thing. “I messed up, Grian.”

“We all mess up. But the important thing is learning from it. Learning from our mistakes, and being better from it. Maybe...one day we can go back and smooth things over with Hermit Mumbo. But...for now, let’s get you some help.”

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theguardiansofredland · 4 years

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Angst???? Explain please

Mm it’s kinda hard to explain Dystopian boy but I can try for Edolas Zed and Tango.

There was an Impulse in the Edolas world before our dystopian boy came along. The three were out in a boating trip. Zed was supposed to check the boat and Tango was supposed to remind him. Neither happened. The boat sank. Tango and Zed were trapped under rubble, tangled up in the sails. Impulse was able to free them, but in turn he became trapped. His leg broken by the mast and tangled in the sails. They were running short on air. Time was running out. With a comforting smile Impulse tells his friends to head for the surface. Zed and Tango protested but Impulse wouldn’t have it.

Zed and Tango escaped that day, losing their friend to the waves.

Every day after his death, they perform a tradition taught by Impulse. Write your wish on a piece of paper, fold it, and put it in a bottle. Give it to the sea and let the waves carry it and one day the ocean will grant your wish. So every day they send a bottle out to sea with the same wish. “Bring him back”

#red rambles #edolas hermits #edolas zedaph #edolas tango

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 5

Previous Chapter

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU Belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

A stranger has been found in the forests of Edolas, unconscious and unanswering to the questions the Edolas Hermits have. Who is he, and why does he look like a friend they lost long ago? Why is he so badly wounded? Why does he have a broken clock?

Why has the ocean stopped taking Zed and Tango’s wishes?

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Part five is my favorite part- I’ll tell you that. Finally reaching edolas, and getting to have fun with the wacky characters that Red has come up with! And, since Edolas is a world of opposite hermits, we decided that yes- Jellie is a dog. A good girl.

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language

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“Jellie! Come here girl!” Scar whistles, clapping his hands together as he continues along the dirt trail through the forests of Edolas. Tall, cozy spruce trees offer a fresh pine scent, the detritus beneath Scar’s shoes a tangle of soft needles and bark. The dark wood offers a muted, calming sensation for Scar.

Jellie barks off in the distance, but doesn’t return to her owner’s side. That’s unusual...Jellie almost always comes when called. The only time she doesn’t is when food is on her mind. Scar hops off the path, following the barking through the winding maze of trees. He picks up the pace as Jellie’s barks turn into a whine.

“What’s wrong, pretty lady?” Scar whispers as soon as he spots the dark coated dog. Scar’s next sentence falters in his throat as he sees the body. Face down in the dirt, surrounded by stones, an unmoving figure lays. White bandages, fraying and bloody, wrap around his arm. Brown, wispy hair is dirty with grass and mud, caking down the remnants of a white buttonup shirt. Black trousers are torn and covered with dirt, one leg bloody both on the fabric and skin. In one hand, a busted clock is still firmly held onto- even with the person obviously not conscious or even alive. Scar sighs. “Xisuma needs to stop dumping bodies in the woods.”

Scar reaches out to pull Jellie away from the corpse, but she plants her paws into the dirt and refuses to leave the side of the person. It’s not until Scar is forced to get closer that he realizes why- it’s not a corpse. He’s still breathing. Holy shit he’s still alive. Scar begins to panic, unsure who to turn to. This isn’t exactly his expertise, dealing with something like this. Who is?

Scar calls the only person he can think of at this moment in time. Cub. He starts to pace around the clearing, too afraid to get close to the body. Jellie stays near instead, laying her head gently on the boy’s back. Keeping his body warm, her fur comforting. Finally, after 3 times going to voicemail, Cub picks up the phone. “Is everything alright, buddy?”

“No, everything isn’t ‘alright’. Things are super fucking weird, Cub.” Scar can’t help but snap, looking back at the form still laying in the dirt. “I...I found something.”

“Something? What kind of something?” Cub’s voice is calm and soothing, a fatherly tone that Scar has come to rely on so much.

“I...it’s a person. He’s still alive, but...I dunno, I think this is some sort of cult thing. He’s wearing some really nice trousers and shirt, but they’re torn to hell and back. He’s got bandages, and surrounded by rocks and theres a clock and…” Scar doesn’t know what else to say. This is too odd, too much for him all to take in.

“Take a deep breath, Scar. I’ll get some others to come out, and we’ll take a look at what you found. Just...make sure he stays alive.” Cub hangs up, leaving Scar to the silence of the forest and the occasional whimper of Jellie. The boy’s chest continues to rise and fall, but Scar doesn’t dare reach out and push him onto his back.

Thankfully, he wasn’t far from the others. Cub, Keralis, and Bdubs appear in the clearing, all stopping dead as they see the body. Bdubs shrinks behind the others, peeking over Keralis’s shoulder. “Oh my god…”

Cub stoops low, taking a gentle hold of the boy’s unharmed arm and checking his vitals. His pulse is steady. “Let’s get this kid to the infirmary. Looks like he needs it.”

Keralis helps Cub gather the boy in his arms. Scar can’t help but watch with Bdubs, both a little too shocked as the others roll over the body and see his face. It’s covered in dirt, caked with sweat and a little bit of blood. But it looks exactly like the face of a person they thought was long gone. No, that’s not right. It’s just coincidence, people look the same all the time. Scar won’t entertain that idea any further. They just need to focus on getting to the infirmary.

----------------------------------------------------

Wind blusters across the sea, white capped waves pounding against Zedaph and Tango’s bare legs. Behind them, sand whips and scratches at anyone who dares to be in it’s path.

But no amount of wind, not hell or high water will stop the duo from their daily ritual. When even Zed’s beliefs change, this is still constant. A tradition, no matter what else is going on around them. Tango’s elegant, cursive writing is slipped into the clear glass bottle that Zed had brought. Tango opens a single, white feathered wing to protect his friend from the angry sand behind them, daring to blister their skin from the beach. He stays silent as Zed whispers out the same wish every single day. “Please, bring him back.”

Salty tears fall from Zed’s eyes, mixing with the ocean around them, just another drop in the sea awash with their pain. They’ve been doing this for years, but every time it still feels as fresh as the day they lost him. Zed caps the bottle, and throws it out with all his might. Beyond the angry turmoil of the surf.

The two remain ankle deep in the ocean, silent and staring. Searching for some sign, any sign that their prayers have been answered. They know it’s impossible, but they still do it. They saw him sink, trapped in the ropes and sails. A gentle smile as he assured them everything would be alright.

But it’s not alright. Tango and Zed are without their best friend, left with a hole in both their hearts. A bed empty in their shared apartment. Zed rubs his tearstained face into Tango’s shoulder, comforted only by his large white wings as they wrap around Zed. The two are about to return to shore, until Zed feels something brush up against his foot.

The bottle. It returned to them. Zed picks it back up, and throws the bottle again. Beyond the surf once more. “No, no. You go out to sea.”

“It’s never done that before.” Tango breathes. He feels sick to his stomach as the bottle returns again, carried on the white waves back to rest at his feet. He stoops low, plucking the bottle as it brushes against his legs. It has to go out to sea. Every single time Impulse showed them this tradition, he said the sea would take their wish. And grant it. He takes off, flying well past the waves, dropping the bottle into the sea.

But by the time he returns to Zedaph, the bottle is back in his friend’s hands. Zed’s anger grows, grabbing the glass bottle. What was once something the two teased to Impulse, was now their only lifeline, their only way to process and grieve his loss. “Take the fucking wish!” Zed screams, reeling back and throwing the bottle as far as he can. He stumbles into the sea, collapsing to his hands and knees. “Take the god damn wish and give us our friend back!”

Tango pulls Zed back to his feet, careful to be sure he doesn’t get a mouthful of water and drown. Drown like Impulse did. Zed’s cries turn into quiet prayers, angry curses at the gods who won’t listen and desperate pleas to those that will. Wishing for a miracle they know will never happen, but still desperately beg for.

The two retreat, grabbing their shoes and rolling their pants back down. Fighting the heavy wind and stinging sand, neither look back. Because they know it’s sitting there again. Spit back out by the ocean.

It’s a quiet walk back to the guild, back to town. It always is quiet, both lost in thoughts and memories. Of easier days, warmer days. When the sun was warmer and shone through their best friend’s smile. When laughter filled their apartment so loud that their neighbors- even Cleo- would yell back for them to shut up.

Zed is the first to notice that things are busy with the guild. Joe nearly knocks Tango over, running to the infirmary with a handful of bandages. Zedaph looks at Tango, both sharing confused looks, before following after the mercenary. Inside the infirmary, most of their friends are there too. Talking in small groups, trading information in whispers and passing papers.

Tango grabs Mumbo as he makes his way towards the exit, fingers wrapping into the leather of Mumbo’s jacket. “Mumbo...what’s going on?”

Mumbo turns, smoothing out his mustache and hair. He’s the only one that doesn’t seem at all frazzled. “Eh, Scar found a body out in the forest- turns out the body is still working. Now they’re trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Stuff way beyond my capacity, dude.”

“A person?” Zed echoes, frowning.

Mumbo shrugs. “Yeah… though he kinda reminds me of Impulse. Looks exactly like him.”

Zed and Tango share shocked glances, and Tango immediately lets go of Mumbo as they sprint past the others, ignoring the shouts. Mumbo simply shrugs, walking out and sauntering to the nearest bar. Not the strangest thing to happen to him.

"Should've known you two would come." Cub states as the two barge into the room.

"Is it really him?" Zed's voice betrays his disbelief. He wants it to be true, for all those gods he's dedicated himself to finally be answering his prayers. Tango flutters closer, peeking around the blinds to see.

"I...I truly doubt its Impulse. He just looks like him." Cub sighs, watching the hope on the two's faces collapse. They creep closer all the same, getting a good look at the stranger in the hospital bed.

Dark brown hair, wispy and unruly, frames a pale and weak face. Even unconscious, the stranger's brows are furrowed together as if he's thinking through some complex problem. He's wearing a torn up white shirt, the buttons lost or in the wrong hole and the tail of the shirt untucked. His hips and legs disappear under the bed's covers, but one foot has been pulled out. White bandages wrap around his ankle, spots of red slowly growing.

And then there's his arm. Opposite of the arm that the stranger's IV is protruding from, red and black catch the pair's attention. Underneath a slick coat of medicinal salve, angry red skin and dark burns surround a series of letters and numbers tattooed under the skin. Zed points to the arm opposite of him. "What is all that?"

"We...aren't really sure." Ren whispers, setting his quill down from taking notes. "Scar thinks its some kind of cult thing, Xisuma says maybe an experiment of sorts. But without him awake, we won't be able to tell for sure."

But while Zed is focused on the tattoo, Tango can't take his eyes off of the stranger's neck. Black, blue, and purple marks ring around the skin, the surrounding area inflamed. The bruises are tight against the person's neck, nestled at the juncture of jaw to spine. Right on his trachea.

Cub notices Tango’s gaze. "Someone else did that, poor kid. Someone tried to kill him. And nearly succeeded."

For Tango and Zed, its like seeing a ghost. It looks exactly like Impulse, from his hair all the way to the dirt under his fingernails. But it can't be true. This isn't really Impulse. Just someone who looks like him. But how much they both want it to be real.

Tango looks up, seeing fluorescent light glinting off of something on the bed stand. It’s not like anything else in the infirmary- dirty brass against the sterile white and silver of the room. Tango flits over the bed, picking up the item. It’s dented, with the clock face ripped open. Trapped at twilight hour, not quite daylight and not quite nighttime. “Was this with him?”

Cub nods. “I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t let go of it. Even unconscious, we had to pry his fingers off it.”

Zed peeks over Tango’s shoulder and wings, violet eyes taking in the damage. It’s quite broken- but not destroyed. The two look at each other, then the stranger, and finally the clock. “We… let’s see if we can do something with this.”

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 1

An Edolas Hermit AU story.

Impulse has become public enemy no. 1 in Hermitland. Making the impossible escape from General Xisuma and his cohorts Doc and Cub, Impulse and his friends need to do the impossible- escape Hermitland, beyond the walled city. Where will they end up? Who will make it?

How does Impulse become Edolas Impulse?

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I didn’t intend to make an 8 part story of how Impulse found his way to Edolas, how he came to become a part of the guild, but Red’s story is just too good to not tell it all! I’m very proud of this story, I hope you guys love it as well.

Warning: This story includes general dark elements and language

“It’s only a matter of time before they find you, Impulse.” Tango whispers, watching as Zed presses the last of their medical cream against Impulse’s bruised neck. Impulse flinches at each touch, even though he knows he has no reason to.

Impulse knows these are his friends. They saved his life, cut him free and fled through the underground tunnels together. But it hurts either way, and any sort of pressure around his neck makes his throat close up all over again, and the tears well at the corners of his eyes. A whisper in the back of his mind says this isn’t real, that he isn’t really alive. He’s still on the noose, and his mind is playing tricks with what he sees, the time he feels passing. Or that he's still in the rehab center, hallucinating it all after the effects of the shots that are forced into his veins.

He has to quiet that voice, remind himself that it is real. His friends really did save him from the gallows. It’s been a week since they made their great escape, into the long forgotten tunnels of Hermitland. Tango and Zed only took short trips to the city above, just to get food from safehouses littered across the place. Impulse was public enemy number one, he wouldn’t be able to show his face above ground. Not unless he wanted to get captured again.

In the week that he’s been hiding below ground, the red marks around his neck have turned into horrible black bruises. In a fractured mirror salvaged from an abandoned house, he can see where the noose constricted against his throat. It aches at all hours of the day, and in any reflection, he has to pause to look at the mottled skin. When he gulps, or eats, it stings like someone just struck him in his trachea. He struggles to sleep at night, both from the pain in his neck as well as the nightmares that haunt his dreams.

“We need to leave.” Impulse breathes out, once Zed’s fingers are away from his neck. “We need to get out of Hermitland.”

“Where will we go?” Zed questions, bouncing in his shoes at the thought of leaving. Excitement glitters in his eyes, the closest thing to sunshine Impulse has seen all week.

“Anywhere we want. We’ll be free, we don’t have to listen to anyone. We can go anywhere, do anything.” Impulse sees Tango sit up, determination and hope filling tired eyes.

“Do you really think we’ll be able to make it out there? How do we know what’s on the other side of the wall?” Tango wrings his hands, unable to not be skeptical about such idealistic beliefs.

“We’ve made it here for this long. Survived all the city had to throw at us, survived living off the grid down here. We’re three smart dudes, we’ll figure it out.” Impulse runs a hand through his hair. They have different skills, different pasts. Impulse knows how to make things last, when he doesn’t know what the future will hold. Zed sees uses for things no one else would think to make use of. And Tango has years and years of private schooling and work in the underground to understand what they’re dealing with.

“We should leave sooner rather than later.” Tango concedes, a wispy smile starting to appear on his face. They’re really going to escape. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

“Let’s leave now!” Zed tosses the empty medicine tin over his shoulder, scrambling to his feet.

Tango grabs Zed by the tail of the white button up shirt they all wear. “We need supplies if we’re going to leave. Food, water, tools.”

“I know that my family has some stone tools at our house.” Zed offers. “And we can get food as well. Pack up what we want to take with us.”

“Can I come up with you guys?” Impulse wants to go to his apartment. Get his own things, his own clothes. Maybe even say goodbye to his family. He hasn’t been home in so long, not since he was captured by the guards. That was...well, he doesn’t know how long ago it was. He can’t remember how long he was in the rehab facility.

Even Zed’s face loses the joy, both frowning at him. “It’s too dangerous, mate. They know what you look like. Everyone knows what you look like after the…”

Zed doesn’t need to say it. Mentioning the public execution by name wasn’t necessary, they all knew what Zed was saying. Tango stands, brushing his black pants clean of the dust and dirt the underground carries. “Besides, the bruises would be a dead giveaway as well. You stay down here, we’ll be back soon enough.”

Impulse watches Zedaph and Tango disappear down the dimly lit tunnels, wandering down the subway that was half built then forgotten. Leaving Impulse to his own devices, pacing nervously around the small cave they’ve claimed as theirs. His worries of them getting caught start morphing as time goes on. What if they’re wrong, and Cub does know who Zed and Tango are? What if they’re waiting to catch them when they can’t escape? What if they're walking right into a trap, and he can’t do anything from down here? What if Cub has been watching them all this time, and there’s cameras even in the underground? Impulse looks around, trying to find any sort of telltale hint of their little hideout being bugged.

He peels back maps, careful not to smudge his sloppy handwriting. Handwriting from when they were looking for a break in the wall. He presses the corners of the map back up, noting the empty area surrounding Hermitland. Whoever made this map didn’t even bother to fill in what’s beyond the wall- it might as well be the void, or not exist at all. Hermitland is the entire universe, the entire life of everyone left in this world.

He digs through chests, shaking bottles of redstone and flicking comparators. Nostalgia whispers across Impulse’s mind, remembering when he first met Zed and Tango. They were all first years in engineering school, having just passed their placement exams. Tango came from a well off family that had adopted him, Zed was a genius that won a competition, but Impulse just got lucky. Lucky to get a scholarship to become a redstone engineer. To help the people and the city. Back then, his idea of helping was developing better redstone lines, fixing old tech. Now, helping the city was freeing it from the corrupt hands that toy with them. Three friends, enjoying school and hassling over tests, turned into three rebels just trying to find their freedom.

Impulse goes through everything, even their beds, leaving the room a torn up disaster in his wake. He doesn’t find anything, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s being watched. Cub knows everything. He knew things about Impulse that even Tango and Zed didn’t know. But there’s nothing Impulse can do- just sit, waiting and twiddling his thumbs. Hoping for his friends to return.

-------------

“Do you think that’s enough food?” Tango whispers, looking at the bag full of apples, baked potatoes, and even some bundles of golden carrots.

“Once we’re out of the city, we’ll be able to find food no problem.” Zed laughs, putting the stone axe into the bottom of his bag. Hidden in case curfew officers ask what they have.

“How are you so sure it’s going to be lush and green beyond the wall? How do we know everything still isn’t fucked by the war?” Tango knows that Zed is a glass-half-full kind of guy, but even this surely must give him some pause. No one knows what’s beyond the wall. Not even the most knowledgeable rebels have ever even attempted to leave the city. That fear, that unknowing of what lies beyond. It could be nothing, it could be everything.

And that’s all they needed, all Impulse and Zed had been banking on. That everything is just beyond the wall. Tango was less sure, but the more that the others would chatter and dream, they would spark hope in him as well. That there was something beyond the wall. His friends gave him the hope that no other member of the underground ever gave Tango. It will be better beyond the wall- it has to be.

“All those years, and nothing grew back?” Zed giggles. “I know you’re from the inner city, Tango, but I worked in the farming industry. Plants are tricky little buggers. You can’t get them to stop growing when they really wanna. I’m sure there’s stuff out there.”

Tango shrugs the pack onto his shoulder, nodding towards the door. Towards the dark streets, distant figures scurrying towards home before getting in trouble with curfew officers. “Let’s get back. I want to be out of here before sunrise.”

The pair walk onto the streets, blending in with the other citizens. It’s easier for Zed, he doesn’t look so different as Tango. Tango always gets stopped by officers, questioned as to why he’s out. Lucky for the both of them, their jobs as redstone engineers grants them a certain amount of wiggle room. They can just claim they’re going to a build site that needs emergency maintenance. They slip through the night, unnoticed among the other people on the streets. Exact same clothing, exact same demeanor. They shouldn’t be out past curfew. Zed stops in the middle of the street, scrabbling his fingers against Tango’s arm. “We need to go to Impulse’s house.”

“What? Why?” That’s a stupid idea. If there’s anywhere they’ll most likely be seen, mostly likely get investigated, it’s Impulse’s apartment. It’s probably bugged to hell and back. Where they first thought to search for Impulse after his escape.

“We both grabbed things from our homes...it’s only fair he has one thing from his childhood. I know exactly what to get too. Please, Tango. It’ll be quick. No one will notice. You can use that jammer of yours to keep Cub and his drones from seeing.” The two look up into the sky, beyond the dim street lights to see if any of the surveillance drones are listening in.

Tango sighs. “It’s only a few blocks. Let’s go. But we need to be quick.”

They take off down the street, creeping down alleys to avoid busy intersections or patrolling drones. Out of the luxurious upper class sector, into the blue-collar apartments and homes. Smaller, looming over one another. Some houses are in disrepair, but still housing families of people.

And there’s Impulse’s apartment. One of many doors to a long line of apartments, but his is the only one with the door wide open. The hinges nearly off their bolts, thin wood slowly creaking in the wind. Zed pauses at the doorway, looking just to his left. Into the brush and bushes that surround the steps up to Impulse’s apartment.

“Zed?” Tango waves his hand across his friend’s blank stare. They shouldn’t be seen here.

“I saw it happen, you know. I was here when they took him. Right there.” Zed points out where he hid in the foliage. “Impulse saw them coming, and shoved me out the window. Told me not to move no matter what. They tore the door open, and dragged him out by his hair. Kicking and Screaming, no sense of humanity towards him. I should’ve done something to stop them, but Impulse told me not to move. They disappeared into an unmarked vehicle, off towards Bastion Towers.”

He takes shaking steps up to the door, each rise up the stairs weakening his knees. All the optimism in Zed is gone, shadowed by memories so much worse than dreams. He should have done something, anything, to stop them. To help his friend.

Inside Impulse’s apartment was a disaster. Drawers flung open and contents spilled out. The sparse furniture broken and scattered. It looks like a horde of monsters came through here. The truth isn’t that far off. It’s a small apartment, really just a living area and a branched off bedroom. For this part of the city, having it’s own bathroom is fancy. Impulse was proud of the hard work he did to get this place. And now it’s all destroyed.

Zedaph knows exactly where it is. What he knows will be the one thing Impulse would take with him. And lucky for them, it wasn’t harmed. The clock had been knocked off the shelf it sat on, but the arms still clicked along at their steady, equal pace. The brass frame was dented, but it didn’t stop the intricate clockwork from continuing to run. Zed crouches down, picking up the redstone infused clock.

“His first redstone project. That’s a brilliant idea, Zed.” Tango whispers, looking at the moon continue to rise against the black night sky. Impulse even painted stars onto it. “I remember when he showed us this. Our first time going out to lunch together, all three of us.”

“Let’s get back to him. I’m sure he’s on the verge of a breakdown.” Zed carefully stows the precious, cobbled together clock into the pocket of his slacks. Just as they slipped out of the underground, they returned.

None the wiser that they’ve been watched.

Always watched.

#I swear this story has a happy ending #but you gotta break a geode to get the gem #hermitcraft impulse #edolas hermits #edolas impulse #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft tango #hermitcraft zedaph #impulsesv #tangotek #zedaph #edolas au #dystopia au #dystopia hermits

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Finale

Previous Part

An Edolas Hermit Story (AU by @theguardiansofredland )

_______________________________

No blurb this time, just enjoy the soft, short finale that this is. Thank you to everyone who came with us on this journey, seeing your reactions and love of the story has made my day and really encouraged me to want to write more. I also can’t thank Red enough for letting me write this tale, all it’s ups and downs and the great ideas that he’s come up with.

Keep your eyes out for other works of the Edolas Hermits, writings of the hermits, as well as original works like Wandering Stars!

Thank you...and enjoy.

_____________________________

He’s warm, cozy and at ease. He doesn’t feel pain- only comfort. This must be it. Impulse died. He survived escaping a dystopian city, being chased through the wilderness, and delving into a whole different world to die by hypothermia. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, to face what has to be the truth.

But the curiosity gets the best of Impulse. He peeks through one eye, before opening both. He’s in the infirmary. Hooked back up to the same heart rate monitor, the same saline bag. But this time, in the morning light tracing across the white floors. Illuminating two faces, resting on the bed right next to him. White wings wrap around both, acting as a blanket.

Tango and Zedaph. Impulse moves closer, noticing that both their hair is wet. Not like they were in the shower. Like they were caught outside. In the snow. Their shoes squeak as they shift, fast asleep. Tango and Zed found Impulse. They followed him, they found him. They knew him well enough to know where he’d go, long after they lost visual of him. They knew how to find their best friend.

Tears well in Impulse’s eyes. It really was them. It has to be. Somehow, they’re here. Reincarnated, his friends till the end and beyond. They’re here, with him. They may look different, but he knows it’s them. Their presence is all he has to comfort him, so for once- he lets himself believe a lie. Let that lie become his reality, his conspiracy. These are his friends, not another world’s.

He is Edolas Impulse.

A moment later, Impulse realizes that it’s not just his best friends beside him. The constant ticking of a clock, monotone clicks at a rhythmic, steady pace create a soft tune with Impulse’s monitor. The sound of a clock soothes Impulse. Time passes, so it must be real. Each second is another second alive, each moment another to spend with his rediscovered friends. Impulse looks around, trying to find where the sound is coming from.

Xisuma is standing at the foot of his bed. Impulse leaps out from under the covers, nearly yanking his IV to fall. He grabs it before it can hit Zed, waking up the tired souls. In Xisuma’s hand, he’s holding a clock.

No, not just any clock. Impulse’s clock. He holds the brass sundial out, fingers unclasping from the sides like a flower in bloom. “It’s very good redstone work. I’ve never seen such a compact system. The gears were a little dented, but I was able to work out the dimples and scratches. Hopefully...hopefully you don’t mind the little bit of gold I used to fix where it broke open.”

Impulse crawls forward, carefully plucking the clock from Xisuma’s hand. He flinches as his fingers brush along the scientist’s palm. But they aren’t cold and angry like the ones he felt way back in the city. They were warm, and shaking a little. Actually, quite a lot. Impulse can’t help but giggle at how spazzy this Xisuma was. “You fixed it?”

“Tango found it, and he asked me to see what I could do. I’m...I’m sorry about scaring you. I have the tendency to do that to people…” Impulse draws the clock close, letting the ticking movement of the sun across the face to fall in sync with his heartbeat. This clock, his first invention and his last gift, meant so much more to him now. He has to keep it ticking.

“Thank you, Xisuma.” Impulse whispers, looking up and smiling. It’s going to take Impulse some time to truly get over the traumas of his past, but he feels he can trust this Xisuma. He fixed his clock, and he can see that same spark in the scientists’ eyes that he feels in his own. He wants to help people, in his own unique way.

And maybe, in time, he can learn to trust Doc and Cub as well. If Tango and Zed trusts them, then he can at least make an effort.

Tango’s wings shuffle against the hood of Zed’s brown alb, shattering the silence and bringing the erratic, shaking ferality of the mad scientist. He clambers over Impulse’s bed, crouching before the plate of warm breakfast food on the bed stand. “Muffin?”

It takes Impulse a few seconds to realize what’s happening. “Oh! Oh, yeah...go ahead. Enjoy it.”

Xisuma cheers, shoving the massive baked good into his mouth and scrabbling along the wall. Sharp nails dig into the paint and concrete, till he clambers to the window. Xisuma crawls through the glass on all fours, the muffin still in his mouth. A very strange man...cryptid thing.. indeed- but with a good heart.

Impulse turns back to his friends, still well under the spell of sleep. And watching their chests rise and fall, Impulse feels sleep tug him back into it’s clutches. He grabs the pillows from his bed, pulling the monitor and IV drip over to the other occupied bed. He’s careful not to get his bandages caught on Tango’s wings, careful not to jab Zed with his bony limbs as he clambers in between his two best friends. Impulse nestles into their protection, for the first time feeling safe. Safe again with his friends, safe again in this new strange world. For the first time since his exodus, he feels like he has a home. And it’s right here, cuddled with Edolas Tango and Edolas Zed.

Edolas Impulse drifts off to sleep, for a short time no longer haunted by nightmares and paranoia. He knows it won’t last long, but for now? For now he’s just happy to be with his friends again.

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

Exodus- Part 2

Previous Part

An Edolas Hermit AU story (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Impulse, Tango, and Zed are vying for freedom out of Hermitland. But first they must get through the great walls of the city, and whatever waits beyond. What they don’t know is that their plan has already been discovered.

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Part Two? Part Two! I’m so glad people are enjoying this story, I just can’t wait to share it all with you! Red’s story is so incredible, I don’t think my writing can do it justice.

Warning: This story contains general dark elements and language

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Impulse grabs the nearest thing he could find, a redstone torch, wielding it as he hears footsteps moving down the tunnels. Zed and Tango have been taking way too long. Surely they’ve been caught by Cub, seen leaving the underground. By now, they’re probably in the rehab center, undergoing the same horrible ‘therapy’ that he had to endure. And now? Now Xisuma has sent guards to retrieve Impulse. Or perhaps just to take him out for good.

So when the two figures round the corner into the team’s hideaway, he swings the torch with all his might. He’s not exactly strong, though, which is why Tango easily grabs hold of the other end, ignoring the electrifying feeling of holding the redstone end of the torch. This isn’t the first time Impulse has freaked himself out to the point of becoming reactionary. “Guess that means you don’t want what we brought you then.”

Impulse immediately lets go of the torch, relief spreading across his face and body as he sees the cool smile of Tango, the bouncy joy of Zed. They haven’t been captured, they look just fine. “I’m just glad you’re back. How was it above?”

“We went to your apartment!” Zed pulls something out of his bag, holding it out for Impulse to see. At first, Impulse has to rub his eyes, just to be sure he’s seeing what is in Zed’s hand. His fingertips are just barely able to curl around the brass wall, the moon beginning to rise towards its peak. Almost midnight. The redstone clockwork is shoddy at best, the gears and lines easy to hear within the device. But for Impulse, it’s his most prized possession.

He built this clock when he decided he wanted to be a redstone engineer. It was his first time using redstone, or any of that sort of material. It sparked his love for inventing, and put him on the path to the man he is now. It’s the start of everything.

And to have it now, that Tango and Zed thought to get the clock from his apartment, makes tears well in his eyes. It hurts to gulp, but he tries his best to keep from whimpering like a baby at the thought. “Th-thank you guys.”

“They ransacked your house. Completely torn apart.” Tango whispers, picking up the mess that Impulse had left behind while they were gone. “But luckily it only got dented. Young Impulse was thinking to use brass instead of the usual gold.”

“Young Impulse definitely didn’t have access to gold. I don’t think current Impulse does either.” He laughs awkwardly, running his finger over the dial on the clock. Xisuma’s guards must’ve been looking for information, evidence against Impulse and the underground. He knows they found nothing. He’s smarter than that. The clock ticks under Impulse’s touch, the moon drawing nearer to its apogee. They need to leave before sunrise. “Where you guys followed?”

“We were fine. Not a soul saw us.” Zed waves off Impulse’s concern, playing catch with an apple then taking a hefty bite from the fruit.

“Are you sure? They have eyes everywhere, Cub could’ve seen you. He could’ve followed you.” Impulse glances around, as if someone else could suddenly appear in the cave they call their hideout.

“We were careful.” Tango nods, pulling up his multitool. The same tool that sent the coding to cut Impulse’s noose. “I used the jamming signal you came up with to keep drones from coming near us.”

Impulse breathes a sigh of relief. He knows that signal works, so he knows his friends are right. They weren’t followed. “Then let's get going. Before someone does start to follow us.”

“Let’s blow this popstand!” Zed cheers, shoving the apple into his mouth and shrugging his backpack over his shoulder. He bounces in his shoes, blonde hair curling and bouncing across his eyes. “Come on come on come on! No time to waste! The next time we see the sun, it’ll be with the sweet taste of freedom!”

Tango and Impulse can’t help but smile, Zed’s enthusiasm contagious. They can hear him humming down the tunnels, footsteps skipping and echoing down the road. Tango ruffles Impulse’s hair, forcing his cowlick over his eyes and making it almost impossible to see. When he parts the unruly chocolate hair, Tango is giving him a coy wink. “Last one to the safehouse is a sticky piston!”

Tango takes off, gilded hair wisping across the horns. Impulse chases after him, grabbing the small bag of his own supplies and stumbling out of their cave. He chases after Zed and Tango, laughing as Zed trips in between skips. He never stops humming, even as he nearly faceplants into the cracked concrete. Tango hardly stops, long lanky legs eloping by and picking Zed up by the scruff like a kitten. Tango was so much taller than others, stood out so much more than any other person in Hermitland. It’s what made him different, it’s what made him awesome. When other people would be nervous with a demon from the nether sitting next to them in class, it was Impulse’s favorite thing. No one dared pick on him and his threadbare clothes at school when Tango’s red eyes would glare them away, his tail flicking menacingly.

Zed scrabbles up the ladder, into the cool midnight air. The trio can see the wall as they sneak free of the forgotten tunnels, closing the trapdoor hidden beneath a massive, leafy bush. Tango remembers to brush a branch over the mulch, scrambling the chips to clear off the disturbance of the three climbing out.

The lights of this street have been broken for years, always put to the wayside of maintenance logs in lieu of work for the more affluent neighborhoods. But the people who have claimed this part of the city as home, the farmers and hard working families find joy in the darkness. The freedom that Zed, Tango, and Impulse feel to walk down the streets. Zed and Tango dance and chase after one another, blowing off the steam of excitement. They’re finally escaping.

But for Impulse, it’s his first time above ground since he was hanged. He’s slower than the others, taking in each deep breath of the cool night air. Fresh, crisp, of the city taking a quiet sigh of relief from the hassle of the day. The moon is in gibbous, nearly full and gazing a single eye down at the world. Stars glitter and shine across the canvas of the night sky. Moonlight wasn’t harsh like the sun. It didn’t burn or scathe against skin the way that electric shocks ran across Impulse’s skin, it didn’t blind him like the harsh lights when he was interrogated. It was a nurturing light, relief from the scathing truth of the day.

Impulse closes his eyes, stretching his arms out and feeling the night air surrounding him. Lies spoken in the day, illusions under the sun become shadows in the night, transparent and weak. The quiet hush of the night is when truths are whispered, when reasonable voices are able to be heard while the shouting crowd is fast asleep. Impulse always got his best work done at night. Impulse learned the truth at night.

In the darkness of the night, none of them notice the stealthy drone zooming it’s lense in on the basking boy. They don’t see the antenna rise up, pointing towards Bastion Towers.

“Come on, mate! You can take a deep breath once we’re beyond the wall!” Zed whispers in Impulse’s ear, tugging him down the silent, open road. All the way to the safehouse. A decrepit little shack, nondescript at best. Even when they enter the toolshed, nothing looks out of the ordinary. Not until Zed picks up a wooden hoe from the racks of stone and iron tools. Beneath their feet, the wood floor slips away to reveal a small tunnel. The boys hop in, dirt falling into their hair as they crawl through the low tunnel. Crawling through the tight quarters, trying not to bump into each other or the wall. Tango has it worst, his horns digging into the tunnel’s soil roof each time he leans back.

They reach the wall, gazing at all their hard work. The wall wasn’t pure concrete, and with each stratified layer they picked away, they had to figure out a whole different solution to a whole new problem. They picked away at thick concrete, filed down metal rebar, rerouted electrical currents, disarmed alarms, even cut through a whole sheet of metal that sat at the center of the wall. All that, until they reached the other side. Right in front of Impulse, they only needed to dig out a few more shovels full of dirt. Unfortunately, freedom was put on hold when Impulse was captured.

But now, the boys can finally pick away the last of what separates them from freedom. To finally be able to escape the city, to finally have done what no one else thought was possible. Zed and Tango squeeze on each side of Impulse, pulling the spades they have handy. And together, the three dig the dirt away. Dirt falls and is flung over their shoulders, getting between their teeth and onto their white shirts. But none of them care.

Especially when Zed’s shovel breaks through grass, digging through the roots and pushing into open air. When he pulls it back, the ground crumbles around it.

They can see the moon on the other side. Unobstructed, save for a distant birch forest across the plains. No buildings, no walls, no streetlights or drones or guards. But there is life. Grass spreads out in all directions, a sea of green visible in the burrow the boys have dug out. Flowers dance quietly in the moonlight, brushed by wind that carries wayward leaves from far away trees. Tango was the first to find his voice. “It’s all real. We did it.”

Impulse’s mind is tethered to the freedom before him, but gets dragged back to the dystopia behind him when he hears the sound of a door slam. Wooden, hitting something so hard that the lumber cracks and the hinges snap. His stomach and throat tighten up as the sound recalls a not too distant memory. The memory of his door being kicked open, armed guards breaking down his entrance to hunt him down. The sound of footsteps in his mind echoes the footsteps he hears at the entrance to their tunnel.

The hatch at the other end is opened. “They found us! They're here!”

“We have to go through now!” Zed keeps digging, trying to open the tunnel. It’s hardly even big enough for one person.

“We have to use the other tunnel! We’re not going to make it through in time. Not all of us.” Tango points down the even smaller crawl space that they built. It was something none of them thought they’d have to use, but Impulse was insistent on. For a case just like this.

Zed can hear voices, arguing down the dark tunnel. “Impulse can’t stay here. He can’t stay in the city- he’ll surely get captured sooner or later.”

Zed and Tango both turn, gazing at Impulse with resolute but despondent eyes. A look that sends chills down his spine and fear through his heart. “What are you two-”

“Come out now before things get grim. I know you're down there. Impulse, I saw you finally came out of your little hole.” A steady, calm voice hollers down the hall. Cub was here.

Tango and Zed share a glimpse of each other’s plans within their eyes, and turn to Impulse. Simultaneously, they scoot back. Put distance between themselves and Impulse. Tears begin to form at the corner of both their eyes, and Zed’s lip quivers as Tango picks up his shovel. “We’ll see you on the other side, Impulse.”

Horrible realization shocks through Impulse. He reaches out for his friends, for them to rethink this decision. But Tango has already struck the dirt above them, yanking it free. Soil collapses between them, and rocks fall soon after. Impulse scrambles back, his arm nearly crushed as the stones fall in. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his hand. He scrabbles against the rocks, digging through the cave in. “No! No, you guys can make it! Don’t leave me!”

No answer on the other end. Impulse strains to listen. He can hear Zed and Tango retreat, the slow creak of the escape tunnel closing in. They’re already gone, disappearing into the crowd of people. Back into the depths of the city.

But Cub remains. Impulse scurries back as the calm voice speaks through the rocks. “It’s only going to get worse from here, man. We know your every move. We will find you.”

Panicked breathes escape Impulse’s open lips, his mind a flurry of just about every emotion he can feel. He has to put distance between him and Cub. He needs to run.

And so he does. Impulse squeezes through the dirt hole, ignoring the grass and mud stains that smear across the white shirt he wears. The ID tag on his arm begins to warm, but he ignores it as he slips into the open field. Impulse clambers to his feet, stumbling into a sprint before he’s even upright.

But the quiet field isn’t quiet for long. Beneath the red poppies and yellow dandelions, traps have laid in wait. Buried long ago, waiting for the day a foolish hermit decided to try and escape. Impulse vaults free of a snare as it releases, nearly grabbing hold of his leg. A net flings from a buried gun, threatening to weigh Impulse down.

If the trapped field wasn’t enough, Impulse hears something rise up from the massive blank concrete wall. He knows he shouldn’t look back, but he can’t help his own morbid curiosity. He peeks over his shoulder, and sees something he never even thought existed within Hermitland.

A door to outside. The concrete walls open up just enough for a black vehicle to slip through. It’s not just Cub that’s after Impulse- Doc stands in the bed of the vehicle, a thin barrel pointed at Impulse.

Impulse doesn’t stop running. He can’t outrun Cub or Doc, but he can outmaneuver them. The weapon fires, a dart filled with sloshing liquid burying itself into the ground next to Impulse. It’s not a bullet, thank god, but Impulse knows that if Doc is involved it’s something much worse. The escapee skids to the side, forcing the black vehicle to change direction as he focuses on his goal.

A forest, just beyond the edge of the plain. Tall, thick birch trees that will be the guardians against the attacking leaders. Barriers for those who wish to keep Impulse from escaping. The hair on Impulse’s head sticks out in all directions, his body electrified as a shock shell detonates beside Impulse. The zapping sound of electricity makes him run all the harder. Flee from what he knows is already awaiting him if Doc gets his hands on Impulse...again.

Impulse meets the treeline, but he doesn’t stop. When he hears the vehicle screech to a halt, he doesn’t stop. When he hears Doc and Cub yelling, swearing and arguing, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop running until the sound, the sight of the city are long gone. Until his legs give out from under him, and all the emotions spread ruin within him.

They’re gone. Zed and Tango, they gave up their freedom for him. Forced him to leave them. He’s alone, lost beyond the wall. Everything he’s ever known is now behind him. His entire life, his entire world. Every person he’s ever known, ever seen.

He’s alone. Lost, on the run. And without the only people he wanted to do this with.

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