What If Scott Was Trying To Resurrect His Child?

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.

Deathly Suspicions

Bertha couldn't quite place something about Scott. Something seemed...different, about him. They watched him take out a demon with complete ease, unlike Pris or Tiff. Scott also mentioned that he'd fought several demons before.

Which made sense, really. But the 'demon thing' wasn't what had puzzled Bertha.

No. It was something else.

They'd taken note of all the subtle differences of the Necromantic Witch. The first thing was how sickly Scott appeared. His skin was incredibly pale with an almost green tint in some places, cold and lifeless flesh clinging to his bones. If Scott was put next to a corpse dressed like him, Bertha knew they'd struggle telling the two of them apart. Scott looked as if he were an inch from death; like an old man waiting for death to knock on his door and take him away.

The second thing was the exposed rib. Scott's clothes had torn ever so slightly, but enough to reveal one of Scott's ribs. That was concerning. The skin surrounding that rib was so pale that Bertha could see every small detail of that rib. No one was meant to have skin that thin unless they were a heavily-decomposed zombie or a skeleton with a thin layer of skin clinging to it like a lifeline.

The last thing, not quite visible, was just Scott in general. He just seemed off. Sinister and malevolent even when they were talking calmly with each other. It was an unrelenting aura of malice that descended upon all in his general vicinity.

So Bertha decided to do some friendly snooping. Because, if they wanted to bring back their sister to undo the curse, they had to ensure that none of the witches were catching on. Or getting to a point where they'd be too powerful for Bertha to take down, even once they got the curse lifted.

Scott ran around the summoning circle outside his house, drawing lines of chalk on the ground. Bertha hid in a nearby tree, careful not to touch any of the leaves. The leaves that, somehow, were still attached to the trees despite being almost certainly dead.

"Come on, come on..." Scott muttered. Bertha noticed the salt on the ground, and how Scott was avoiding it like the plague. Leaning forward, they held their breath. What would happen if they dropped salt onto Scott?

"Careful...careful..." They whispered to themself, rummaging through their pockets. Once they found the salt, Bertha slowly began to tip it down. The salt landed on Scott's shoulder with a sizzle.

"Crap!" Scott cursed, clutching his shoulder. Letting out a cry of agony, the Necromantic Witch sunk to their knees. Demonic growls and whimpers escaped Scott's mouth. Thick and sticky black blood stained the necromancer's hand. The skin around his shoulder bubbled, the flesh blackened and sickeningly inhuman. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" The demonic voice cried out. Scott tried to stand and failed. His head whipped around, glowing green eyes looking for the source of the salt.

Bertha swiftly retreated away. Hopping from tree to tree, they mentally stored the information they'd gathered in their brain for later.

Now they knew what was up with Scott. At least, now they had their suspicions.

Scott was a Lich.

And now Bertha knew, maybe there was a chance that they could gain some leverage here...

Fishy Friendships

Scott hated his scales.

Yes, he was surrounded by the sea. Yes, he lived on an island. Yes he had coral in his hair and clinging to his clothes. And yes, he was part of a duo called Mean Gills. All of those things are very fish related, but that didn't mean he wanted to become a fish!

He couldn't change it now, though. He'd fallen to sixteen hours. He'd become a yellow life.

And for some reason, that meant scales were now appropriate.

Staring at his reflection in the sea, Scott ran his hand through the water to disrupt the offending image shown by the water. Glistening blue scales slowly creeping in on his face. They stayed near his forehead, but also went down the side of his head. Luckily his hair could cover most of them, but he would always see them.

His chest ached for reasons he couldn't explain.

He wanted to go swimming. He yearned to swim. For no apparent reason.

Taking a deep breath, Scott dived underwater.

He remembered dying. He was swimming, swimming as fast as he could, desperate to get away. Jimmy was hot on his trail. If he didn't act fast, Scott knew he would die. So he kept swimming. He swam and swam and swam. His lungs burned. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain. Martyn was close, too. Scott reached out for him, calling out Martyn's name, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Water flew into his lungs. Scott begged Martyn to kill him. He'd watched, helpless, as Martyn and Jimmy fought, shoving, kicking, elbowing each other, all whilst trying to kill him. Scott remembered how both Jimmy and Martyn had called out for him for different reasons. He felt the sword plunge into his heart. He felt it as his time as a green life was gone.

And suddenly Scott was panicking. Flailing in the water, his garbled screams could be heard all the way from the Bad Boys' mansion.

Someone dived into the water. One, no, two people had dived in. Scott couldn't tell who they were. They both looked too similar to each other. Maybe they were just one person. He couldn't tell.

He was being lifted up. Scott let them, no longer screaming in fear. The two people slowly swam up. He was getting closer and closer to breathing properly. Scott didn't even mind the water now. Even though he'd felt nothing but fear moments earlier. God he was a mess right now.

"Scott? Scott! Can you hear me?" He recognised one voice as Martyn's, but it was hard to make out the words. They all seemed to slur and mix, creating a weird linguistic concoction of nonsense.

"Scott, please. L-look at me. I'm sorry. Okay? I-i-if that helps, I'm s-sorry. Just-...please. Look at us, damnit!" Another voice cried out. This one was familiar too, but Scott couldn't place it.

His vision began to clear up.

Standing over him were Martyn and Jimmy.

"Please. Please just...acknowledge you can hear us. I-I need to know if you're alive. Your pulse is weird and-" Martyn's voice got caught in his throat.

Scott groaned. He tried to sit up, but Jimmy's gentle hands guided him back down. "H-hi," Scott offered weakly. Tears bubbled in Jimmy's eyes, and he hugged Scott tightly. Martyn was crying too, but instead was holding Scott's hand, squeezing it every few seconds.

No one moved for a while. Although Scott had recovered now, neither one of the men currently with him moved an inch. He resigned himself to watching the waves lap up at the edges of the Coral Isles. Night had crept up into the sky by now. He could hear the worried shouts of Grian and Joel off in the distance.

Reluctantly, Scott managed to crawl out of Jimmy's vice-like grip and just-...laid there. Not like there was much else to do. When he saw Joel and Grian, he gestured down to Jimmy with a simple thumbs-up directed towards them. The remainder of the Bad Boys visibly relaxed. The two dived into the sea with a faint splash and swam over at a slow pace. Scott knew they weren't slow swimmers. But it was excusable.

Jimmy had fallen asleep. With a nudge, he groggily blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked up at Scott.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out in an instant. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you and- and doing that, but I-I'm scared, I don't wanna die and we don't get a choice and-"

"It's...okay." Scott said in response. He didn't necessarily feel okay, but he could. He could learn to. For now, he'd just pretend.

"Timmy!" Grian clambered onto the island and tackled Jimmy with a hug. Joel followed soon after, slinging his arms around both of their shoulders. "Are you okay? You were gone for ages and we were worried but no death message appeared so-" Grian took a breath. "Sorry. I'm just worked up. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted after having to deal with Grian. Don't scare us like that again." Joel said in a playful tone. But it was clear to everyone that it was only there to maintain an act of confidence. In Joel's own, weird way, of course.

Jimmy looked to Scott for permission. He nodded, and Jimmy smiled at the others. As the Bad Boys left the Coral Isles, Jimmy dropped something on the ground.

"Wait, you-" Scott was about to tell him, but Jimmy smiled and shook his head. The Bad Boys disappeared.

Scott knelt down to pick up the item Jimmy dropped.

A poppy.

"You alright?" Martyn glanced up at Scott. He'd almost forgottten about his fellow Mean Gill!

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Is that-"

"Mm-hmm." Scott showed Martyn the poppy. "But, I don't know what it means anymore. So..." Scott walked to the edge of the Coral Isles. Memories flashed up in his mind, memories of him and Jimmy in the first of the Life Games spent together. Each one was closely tied to the poppy and the Pufferish of Peace. But since Jimmy lost the pufferish, Scott was going to lose the poppy.

"Are you sure?" Martyn hurriedly asked.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Scott threw the poppy into the sea.

"My place is with you. Here. On the Coral Isles. Not with him anymore." Scott smiled at Martyn and held out his hand. Martyn took it without hesitation.

It felt nice having a friend.

He Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way

He had died to Martyn before. In the first hunt when was the final Green left. He had begged, screaming through the water for his ally, his fellow Mean Gill to kill him. He had smiled as his friend plunged the sword into his chest and finally ended the hunt, bringing on the Yellow Mellow Era.

He wouldn't have had it any other way.

He had lived on, thriving on the Coral Isles. He had watched as they were destroyed. By TNT, primarily. Time and time again his Isles had been bombed by the others. He'd rebuilt it every time with Martyn's help.

He wouldn't have lived his life any other way.

He had gone on a hunt. Recklessly killing those who had tormented him during the hunt for extra time. He'd stolen hours. He'd done so with pride. And yet, he had no regrets. No regrets, even as more and more blood stained his already red hands. No regrets, even when the voices in his mind cursed at him for doing so. No regrets, even when he knew the other versions of him, somewhere in their own SMPs, were frowning upon him for being so primitive.

He wouldn't have killed them any other way.

He stole as many hours as he gave away. Allies came running to him in a desperate plea for the time he had. They would offer a trade for him; items in exchange for time. But that wasn't necessary. He had more than enough time on his hands. He would've given it away regardless of a reward. He'd grin foolishly at how his allies would thnk him graciously for his generosity.

He wouldn't have given away his hours any other way.

He recalled the last few moments he had left. Impulse and Martyn had taken two of his hours, one each. They were all on a level playing field. Equal chances of death. One or so kills would be enough to end their lives and stop their clocks. He had gripped his sword tighter than he ever had before in his life. The roar for blood pounded in his ears. The ticking of his timer resonated with every heartbeat, every breath, every subtle twitch of bloodlust. His entire body ached with the need for blood. For more time. For survival.

He had died to the hands of an ally. He had finally broken his curse. He no longer had to outlive the ones he loved most. He no longer had to look out over an empty plain with an ache in his chest as his heart yearned for the touch of his closest friends, sometimes even lovers. First it had been the sweet, wonderful Jimmy who he had been married to during the first game. Pearl was second, the amazing and helpful friend she was. Cleo, the not-soulmate he had made to spite how their soulmates had mutually abandoned them. And Martyn. Protective, comforting Martyn. A loyal soldier until the end. He had saved Scott's life countless times in this game. He had long lost count of how many times the two of them gave and took lives in the effort of elongating their ally's life. He lost count of the nights they had sat together, warm in each other's arms as they stared at the waves lapping at the shore of the Coral Isles. The traps. The small domestic moments they shared. The joy.

And even as Martyn stabbed the sword through his chest with the ruthlessness of a man so numb to killing it no longer hurt to slaughter his closest ally, he couldn't help how joyful he felt. His curse was broken. He could finally die without grief weighing down his heavy heart. He could be brought back to seeing his friends after the games as their ghostly forms floated about to oversee the end. He no longer had to weep at the sight of his friends.

He watched Martyn win with a warm heart and happiness pumping through his blood. The curse breaking would upset Them. They would be furious. He laughed at the thought. He really had denied them every time. Only on this occasion, it had been with the help of another that he had defied Their wishes.

He gave the order. He told Grian to do it. He watched Martyn be killed in the blissful peacefulness he had experienced many games ago. And he threw himself into Martyn's arms desperately, relishing in how his ally hugged back.

Scott wouldn't have had this any other way.

Not one bit.

Calm Before The Storm

There were no more Yellows now. Which as a result meant no more mercy, or grace periods. No one would show kindness anymore, not when the entire world was against you. Allies would only be standing in your way. Hindrances to success.

Scott stood at the diving board, staring out upon the server. He could see everyone beginning to head back to their bases clearly. His fingers itched, the way they always did when he was Red, slowly finding his bow and holding it up. An arrow was nocked, aimed and ready for someone's head. He didn't know whose head. It didn't matter in the end. They were all just heads on bodies waiting to be chopped off.

Shaking himself out of it, he lowered his bow and put the arrow back in its quiver.

Gem was sat on the floor with her sword in her lap. A strand of hair fell over her eyes and she hastily brushed it away. She stared at her reflection in the sword, a frown tugging at her lips, tilting it this way and that presumably to find a noticeable change.

Everyone felt different as a Red.

No one knew how. There were no physical differences to before, no changes in demeanour or personality. A player didn't instantly grow cold and calculated with an intense thirst for blood. The bloodlust was always inside of them. It just never arose as a Green or a Yellow. It simmered in their stomachs on a low heat, only to have the temperature rocket up and the pot overflow, teeming with the urge to kill. The need to have blood on your fingers. To feel the weight of a weapon in your hands, or to hold the lever to set off a TNT trap.

Many tried to look for a difference. It was quite common for players unfamiliar with the game to do so. They always believed there to be something wrong with them physically, and resorted to searching for changes in what little time they had on their hands.

They never found anything, sadly, but no one did.

"Gem," Scott began, walking over to her. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment, then looked back down at her sword. "Gem." he repeated, firmer. She paid him no mind. Apparently a reflection was more important than her teammate.

Impulse stepped out of his house and sat next to Gem. He stretched his arms and placed his palms in the grass, running his hands through the blades. Like many other players, his hands were riddled with scars, burns, blisters and callouses. "What's up?"

"That's the problem," Scott replied. "Nothing. Nothing is happening."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Impulse asked. "I mean, that means we have time to prepare for an attack, or a trap." He nudged Gem with his arm playfully. "Right Gem?"

She didn't respond.

Scott leaned in a little closer and sighed. Her eyes had glazed over. Again.

"Third time today." he grumbled.

Standing up, Impulse bent down to scoop Gem up into his arms and made a start for the gate. He gestured with his head for Scott to follow, and follow he did. He opened the gate for Impulse, and the two of them descended down the stairs and walked past the Secret Keeper statue. The mere sight of it was enough to send shivers down Scott's spine and make him want to run.

They stopped by Cleo's first. Unsurprisingly, Etho was there too.

"What is it?" Cleo asked. She whispered something in Etho's ear and he nodded, scurrying off quickly.

Once his receding footsteps were out of earshot, Scott answered. "It's happening again. I'm gathering some of the players."

She nodded, gradually understanding. "Alright, just give me a moment to grab my things." she disappeared.

Scott stood there, impatiently tapping his foot until Etho arrived with Grian in tow. Both of them were holding bundles of blankets with some snacks thrown in there for good measure. Grian yawned, attempting to rub his eyes.

Cleo reemerged a short while later with more snacks and some water.

The group left and headed towards Pearl's, where Scott broke off from the group to retrieve an additional guest. Before he could even knock on the door, Martyn was outside with all his stuff, a small smile on his face.

"Cleo messaged me," he explained. Scott walked alongside him back to Pearl's, where everyone was sat waiting. Some of them weren't able to join them, so it wasn't quite as full a group as usual, but it was still something.

He took some of the blankets from Martyn and laid them out on the floor. Everyone else did the same, then sat down.

Gem was the last one to sit. Impulse had to guide her to an available spot and gently lower her until she was perched on the edge. Her eyes were still glazed, but a fraction of light and normalcy was returning to them already.

Scott sat down beside Impulse, with Martyn's head in his lap. He absent-mindedly twirled strands of Martyn's hair whilst humming a small tune. He couldn't recall where he'd heard it; perhaps in passing, in the space between the games, or maybe it had been playing when he was in a different server. It sounded similar to a drinking song, so maybe it had been from Pirates.

"Now what?" Grian asked. He perched himself far from the others, but close enough to Cleo and Etho to reach them in case of an unfortunate event. His gaze was on Gem, his eyes narrowing mildly.

Etho chimed in. "We hang out. Eat. Talk. And we wait for Gem to come back."

Cleo nodded in agreement, a small smile curling at her lips. Her hand met Etho's, and their fingers entwined.

---

It took a while for Gem to come back fully. She'd return in brief fits, then leave soon after. It was like flicking a switch on and off repeatedly, only more stressful and each wait seemed to stretch on for eternity.

But once she started to ground herself, it became easier.

Her thoughts were a swirling mass of death, flashes of red every time she shut her eyes. Something was wrong with her. Something had changed, but what? What had changed so drastically about her?

She looked the same. Felt the same. Even tasted the same, which she tested herself (although maybe she did taste different and simply didn't notice.)

But something about her must have been wrong.

She was wrong. A freak. A creature of her own design or maybe someone else's.

Whenever she came to, she was surrounded by people. Impulse's hand on her knee, fingers tapping along to a rhythm. Scott humming a tune, playing with Martyn's hair, his hums occasionally turning into snippets of song lyrics. Cleo and Etho holding hands and smiling, Etho's head on cleo's shoulder, eyes shut in contentment. Grian watching warily. Pearl next to him with a calming hand on his shoulder.

A pang struck her heart when she came to.

They were all here for her. They'd dropped whatever they were doing, for her.

She was important to them.

Gem fell back again into that whirlpool of thoughts. They swirled viciously in her mind, growling and barking and biting like a pack of rabid wolves. Their fur was the colour of blood, and Their eyes were pools of purple. A strange black liquid oozed from Their fangs and dripped onto the ground. They approached from all sides, closing in slowly, leaving Gem less and less time to escape.

Panic bubbled in her chest and she balled the clumps of her shirt in her hands, trying to remember how to breathe.

"You're okay," Impulse's voice whispered in her mind. Was she? She didn't feel like it. "I've got you."

She almost laughed at the thought. He didn't. Not only because she was here and he was out there but also because no one could ever truly have Gem secure in their company. There was always that thin line, that tightrope of danger she was obliged to walk on. One misstep and she fell back into that world of blood, wolves and that rising sense of fear.

"Gem, we're here for you. Take your time." Cleo.

"You've got this," was a half-hearted encouragement from Martyn. He yelped, grumbled under his breath, then hastily added, "I believe in you!"

A hand gently squeezed her kneecap. She saw it, saw the hand, but not the hand at the same time. It flickered in and out of physicality, not wanting to be there for too long. Then it settled into reality with a firm determination.

Something else appeared, too. A shaky apparition, a figure bathed in sunlight. His wings were folded against his back, his red sweater worn and fraying. There was a scar on his temple, and a bruise on his cheek. A second appeared closer to her, gently illuminated by small floating stars, his pointed ears sharp and alert. Then came another, in a cloak of woven moonlight, a toothy smile revealing her elongated canines.

Then finally came one surrounded by a thick outline of red. There was a pendant around his neck of a hand grasping an hourglass.

They all smiled kindly at her, their faces coming into visibility slowly. Everything unnatural about them faded away until they were simply Grian, Scott, Pearl and Martyn, all still in their respective positions.

"Welcome back," Etho greeted.

Scott exhaled in relief, his hand falling to his side. Martyn frowned at its absence, sitting up properly. His hand crept into Scott's lap and rested on his thigh. A grin curled at Scott's lips.

Gem leaned into Impulse. "I'm tired." she whispered, not trusting her voice enough to raise it much more. Still, her words carried across to the others and a blanket was tossed her way. She caught it easily - surprisingly enough, but that must've been a good thing if her reflexes were already coming back - and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"G'night," Martyn said, letting gravity push him backwards. Scott fell with him, letting out a displeased noise when his back hit the ground. "Let's all have a five minute grace period before killing each other, yeah?"

They all mumbled their assent.

Gem and Impulse lay down, close but not touching. She couldn't touch him just yet; her body still didn't quite feel as it should. But when it did, she'd hug him.

Until then, she'd have to rest.

A Red Life was many things; vicious, unforgiving, spiteful, vengeful.

But they were also kind, gentle and merciful when the time called for it.

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!

The Doll

He didn't expect to die so quickly.

Scott usually managed to survive a while. Not all the time, mind you, he was only mortal after all, but it just came as a surprise.

When he died, aside from the intense pain that came with being burned alive, Scott could almost feel his bones fracturing. Which was strange since he no longer had any bones to break. It was as if, in his third death, he had died as a Transporter too.

He felt a baby zombie sink its teeth into his non-existent flesh. Its fists collliding with his ribs. He felt that, as well.

Scott tried to shake the feeling off. He wasn't a Fungal Mage anymore. It was a new life, a different life. He wasn't like the others before him.

It was as if he was being pulled apart and pieces of him were scattered through lives he'd lived in the past. Glimpses of a sword thrust through his heart in snowy mountains, of dying to a friend's hand, of standing atop a mound of TNT and lighting it.

Of waking up in the flower fields again with a blurred face smiling at him.

Shivers crawled over his body.

He was dead now, wasn't he?

An emptiness crept inside him. The others would be gone soon. Properly gone. Would he be the last one left?

Scott thought about Sausage, his new life as an assassin. Of all his friends. Jimmy. Sparrow (although sometimes he thought he was Owen instead. Maybe he just had one of those faces). Lizzie. Martyn. Everyone he had cared about, gone.

Dead. Just like he was.

Something seemed familiar. He couldn't tell what it was.

"Home."

"Are you coming?"

"Martyn!"

"I'm giving you ten seconds to run."

Scott's eyes snapped open.

Homesickness and Experimentation

The Nether was truly perilous.

Two lives had been lost to the cruel domain. It stole and stole the life that organisms thrived upon, and stole even more. The Nether stripped its inhabitants of all things that linked them to any other dimension. The Nether was a horrid entity that hungered for all creatures that wandered in and out of its realm to become one with its lands.

Scott knew this well. But he still needed the resources.

The transporter entered the Nether with a vague knowledge of it. Lava tended to be everywhere, so he couldn't just teleport freely like he could on the Overworld. Monsters of all kinds resided here, too, and there were certain requirements to fulfil in order to ensure he didn't get attacked.

So, hastily crafting a pair of golden boots and pulling them onto his feet, he continued on.

He landed somewhere beautiful. Because whilst the Nether was dangerous and unforgiving, it was beautiful in a way no other dimension could be. Scott had been spat out of his portal in a corner of the Nether with greenish-blue and pearly colours everywhere. The warm hues of the faded light of lava cast contrasting tones of light onto the cool-coloured area.

Looking down at his body, pale and adorned with colours of teal and orange, there was the strange feeling that he somewhat belonged here. As if, somehow, this area was made with him in mind. Or perhaps he had been created in the image of this part of the Nether.

But he wasn't in the right area. So, Scott attempted to return home via the sheep he'd marked before his departure.

...

Nothing. He was just in a different area. The generic part of the Nether, with lava flowing everywhere, the dull crimson of netherrack and the faint growls of creatures.

Scott tried again. Tried teleporting back home again.

Still nothing. There was still lava everywhere. The heat was absolutely scorching. If he'd been Martyn, he probably wouldn't have survived more than a couple minutes.

Well. All he could do now was make his own portal and see where on the Overworld he ended up.

Only, he didn't have obsidian on him. Not enough for a return portal.

This was going to be a long day. Or was it nighttime?

---

Sparrow had been working for hours.

Staring at the machinery, hoping it would assemble itself, he let his mind wander. This may not work. He may not be able to get powers like this. After all, there was no guarantee that he actually was a hybrid.

Although he remembered, before his journey here, that some people used questionable means in order to attain powers. Dangerous ones. Ones that were severely unethical.

But if that was all it took, was it not worth it?

With a tired sigh, he stood up. Sparrow's mind was not in a good place. That was why he was considering something so ridiculous. What good could be done by experimenting on himself? Or any hybrid nearby? All that would come of it would be pain and dead ends.

At least, that was what he'd been taught.

But what if it actually worked? Sure, it was probably rude to kidnap and experiment on your neighbours. But maybe he could take someone who didn't know who he was? That would make it hurt less on both sides. Sparrow couldn't imagine experimenting on the hybrids he knew. Seeing Sausage or Scott in a cage, the colour drained from them, their usually upbeat and chaotic energies dampened by fatigue or whatever things he'd done to them would be horrible.

Even if Sausage had done a lot of bad stuff, Scott was a bit of a nuisance from time to time.

The nicer hybrids he knew would be destroyed. A husk of their former selves. Lifeless.

The thought made him shiver.

Sparrow approached a tree. He'd heard of hybrids with the ability to fly in the past. Maybe he could trigger a reaction by jumping from a tree, or trying to mimic bird behaviours?

Before he could process it, he was already halfway up the tree. He kept going. Sparrow reached the top of the tree. Falling from this height would likely break a limb. Or, in a truly severe case, maybe even kill him if he was careless. The tree was much taller than he had thought.

Without a second thought, Sparrow jumped.

---

Scott had been searching for hours.

His stomach ached painfully. He'd been eating soup and cabbage rolls as his usual diet, but the Nether seemed to make his stomach crave something else. Sure the food replenished his hunger, but it wasn't satisfactory.

By complete accident he had stumbled across an abandoned city. The streets were empty, entirely empty. Empty enough to send shivers sprinting down Scott's spine until he was shivering.

There was something unsettling about the city.

In the Overworld, most villages were teeming with life. They'd have villagers wandering around, joyfully selling their wares in exchange for emeralds. Iron golems would roam freely. The occasional cat would dart around and, if you were lucky, would nuzzle your leg and let you pet them.

But in the Nether this was not the case.

He couldn't do it. Couldn't stay here. Scott had been in a couple houses and taken some dressers, but the air was too stuffy. He couldn't breathe. Everything was so similar but so different at the same time. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was back home in his bed dreaming.

But no. Scott was stuck in the Nether.

In the distance was a nether fortress.

---

Sparrow almost felt like he was flying.

Wind whipped against his body as he fell. He let out a cry of joy, delighting in the breeze that tickled him gently. The sky embraced him. If he shut his eyes, he could picture himself flying across the sky as the sun set. Warm colours of gold and rosy pinks mingling with the pale cotton clouds.

A content smile curled at his lips.

He spread his arms out wide.

The ground drew nearer and nearer.

He didn't see it. Why would he? With his eyes shut, he could be anywhere doing anything. Why would he confine himself to reality when his imagination was there for him? Sparrow would never have to be a regular human again. He could be anything he wanted with his eyes shut.

And shut they remained.

The ground got closer and closer.

Closer.

The wind finally ceased.

Sparrow's eyes opened.

The ground was there waiting for him.

He screamed. He screamed and screamed because he knew this landing was going to hurt. He screamed because he was an idiot for believing this would work. He screamed because there was nothing else he could do.

He hit the ground.

---

Scott finally got what he came for in the first place.

But the problem he was facing was finding obsidian. Because the nether fortress was huge, and there was almost no way he'd be able to cover every inch of the place alone.

Especially with mobs attacking him.

Eating another cabbage roll, he assembled his thoughts. There wasn't much more he could do other than keep looking. Staying in the Nether was certainly not an option. Scott would rather die than spend another minute here.

If he was really unlucky, that could be arranged for him.

Scott stumbled over his own feet as he ran. He hadn't been hit yet, and he didn't want to let the mobs get a chance to.

Chests were everywhere and contained all sorts of things. Still not enough obsidian. At best he'd managed to find four pieces, but that wasn't enough for a full portal.

He cursed as an arrow narrowly missed him.

Sprinting, he wasted no time in making his escape. The chests could wait until he wasn't in danger.

---

Groaning, Sparrow tried to sit up.

His legs shrieked in protest.

Oh well. That's what he gets for being so reckless.

Sparrow grabs some food and eats it. Feeling slightly better, he surveyed his situation. Broken legs, definite pain in his arms and some minor pain in his back. His neck ached, but his head was mostly okay.

This was the price he'd pay. So he wouldn't complain.

Perhaps he'd just have to try other methods.

A syringe would work, right?

---

Scott finally got his hands on the last bits of obsidian he needed to get home.

With intense eagerness, Scott placed the obsidian down in the formation and lit his flint and steel. There was a whoosh sound, and then the portal had been ignited.

As a goodbye, Scott nodded his head and leapt through the portal.

He felt the familiar nauseating feeling of going through the portal to and out of the Nether. Then, he was back on the Overworld. Back with the sun and grass and water. Back with his house, farms and friends.

Scott didn't have the neergy to go to his bed to sleep.

Curling up on the ground, he allowed himself some rest.

Scott's Last Breath

There was no time. He was swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming for salvation, swimming to get away, swimming to live. Jimmy and Martyn were both there. He remembered Jimmy had given him time to hide. To hide before Jimmy set out to kill him and gain an extra hour. Scott was a target now. People were getting desperate.

Water began to fill his lungs. Scott was grateful he was a small part fish so that water would let him live, but now that he was approaching Yellow Life, even his fish anatomy was letting up and the water would kill him soon. Each panicked inhalation of water sent him closer to death.

"Martyn!" Scott cried out. His voice was muffled, but the look on Martyn's face spoke volumes. His friend nodded. He needed Martyn to kill him instead of Jimmy. Martyn was his ally. If Scott was going to die, then he wanted Martyn to be the one to take the extra hour. Not Jimmy.

"Scott, come to me!" Jimmy yelled through the water. Scott wouldn't. He couldn't.

His mind brought back memories filled with his husband in the flower fields, the flower crowns they wore and the small rings of twine as their wedding rings. He remembered standing in front of a grave with a poppy dropped at its base. He remembered dying and seeing his flower husband again.

Scott felt the searing pain of two blades piercing his body. Blood flowed out and into the water, staining it red in a gruesome pool of blood and pain.

He wanted it to end. He wished he could just die and avoid being constantly hunted down as the one on the server with the most lives.

Scott saw the wounds. He saw the wide gaping injuries littering his sides, chest, arms and legs. Locking eyes with Martyn, a final unspoken message was sent.

He was about to die. He was so low on health. Scott prayed in his mind that Martyn would deliver the blow. He hoped that, when he respawned, he'd be held by his fellow member of the Mean Gills, his ally, the only person he could really trust.

Scott's vision went black.

He felt his heart stop.

His body went cold.

The final damning message in the world, horrific words spelled out in the minds of every single player.

Smajor was slain by InTheLittleWood

At least his ally would get to live a little longer.

Witchcraft SMP Member-Inspired Dances

I've already made a post on genres of music I thought the witches would listen to. What about dances they invented themed around their magic???

Shubble - Storm Shuffle. Literally. Just Shelbie doing a small little shuffle left and right in the middle of a storm.

Tiff - Floral Flamenco. For whenever Tiff is trying to tend to gardens or work with her botania books, she can do this dance to relax.

Pris - Hydro Hand-jive. Just a small dance Pris came up with after the date. She does it a lot when she's in a panic, and probably would've done it a small while after the incident with that demon on the ship.

Lauren - Sandy Salsa. Salsa is a kind of sauce/topping. Lauren's character is part-sandwich (i think???)

Eloise - Illusionary Ikariotikos. It's something she'd do after a particularly difficult illusion or just as a stress-reliever. I feel like she could've done this after her date with Pris went wrong.

Joey - Flaming Foxtrot and Frosty Flamenco. Joey just dancing in the middle of a bonfire seems funny to me. And then Joey starting a dance in a tundra while everyone else is just freezing.

Scott - Widow's Waltz. It fits his character, and does have some connection to death via mourning. Scott would have performed this with "him" before "he" died, and Scott now does it alone in "his" memory.

Cleo - Time Tango. Cleo would do a tango alone as time changes around her. Or maybe she tangoes with the embodiment of time. Maybe a time god? Or a time spirit? Something like that.

What do you think? Again, you can use this for Dancer AUs or whatever you want!