Curse Of Victory

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.

Burning Flowers

Scott was fed up. He glared at Jimmy, currently squatting on an open trapdoor with his arms stubbornly folded across his chest and a determined look in his eyes. It was a familiar look for Scott, one he'd have seen in the first set of death games when him and Jimmy had been friends - even closer than that - rather than enemies or allies.

But that was in a different time, when Scott was content living with Jimmy.

Now he wanted him out. And quickly.

He tightly gripped his flint and steel, maintaining eye contact with Jimmy's warm brown eyes.

"You've got ten seconds to get out before I set you on fire." His voice was calm, like the sea before the storm. His eyes burned with controlled anger, a wildfire that he would only push inside until he lost all inhibition as a Red.

Jimmy adamantly stood his ground.

Scott began to count down slowly, stepping closer like a predator stalking their prey. With each number ticking down his voice grew lower and lower.

"Three." Sparks flew from the flint and steel. "Two." Fear flickered in Jimmy's eyes as the realisation set in that Scott was serious. "One."

Scott lit the ground around Jimmy on fire, watching the flames climb higher with ravenous hunger. Jimmy yelped and began to jump around. Following, Scott lit and put out fires with incredible speed. When the flames latched onto Jimmy's skin, searing pink flesh, a smile stretched across his face.

Jimmy panted heavily, landing on a higher trapdoor. His arm was singed, the jacket and shirt sleeves practically ribbons.

"I'm not leaving." Jimmy said, his tone convicted.

That only left Scott with more of a challenge. His grin widened with the idea of a new game, a chance to see how long it'd take, how many injuries Jimmy would sustain, before he finally decided to back off.

Scott balled his fists and drew closer. Jimmy tried to jump, but couldn't get past Scott. He fell into a corner, his palms flat against the walls.

He reared his fist back and slammed it into the wall next to Jimmy's head. The blond flinched, eyes wide and panicked, yet still containing that flame of determination.

"Five seconds. Or I'll be punching you instead of the wall." Scott pulled his fist back. He looked at the dent he made in the wall with pride.

Jimmy, in typical Jimmy fashion, did not back down.

"Five." He balled his fist. "Four." Into the wall. "Three." Pulled back. "Two." Grabbing a fistful of Jimmy's shirt, yanking him closer. "One."

Scott slammed his fist into Jimmy's nose.

Thick red blood ran down his face, yet he made no reaction. Scott, frowning, prepared to hit him a second time.

Jimmy sprung into action and darted past him. A growl escaped Scott's lips and he trailed after him, blood staining his hand.

Upon him moving towards the entrance, Jimmy flung himself forward once more and back onto the high trapdoor. He wiped the blood running down his face but didn't clear it away, only leaving a smear behind.

"I. Am not. Leaving." Jimmy enunciated each word with a new wave of fury.

They both breathed heavily, chests rising and falling in unison.

Scott, for a moment, wondered why exactly he was doing this. Greens weren't meant to be particularly violent, yet there was no denying that there was a bloodlust that burned inside him, the kind that only a Red could achieve.

His vision went red.

A familiar weight fell into his hands. An axe, he realised. Scott glared at Jimmy.

This time he gave no warning. He lunged immediately, lifting the axe up and bringing it down in a swift arc on Jimmy's chest. The scream that followed was euphoric to Scott.

Finally, Jimmy fled. He sprinted past Scott, coughing and wheezing and hacking, barrelling out the door and into the open.

The axe dropped onto the floor. Scott stared at it, the blood on the blade and his hands. On his clothes. Even his shoes. Scott left his house with the desire to see himself guiding him towards Gem's diving board and flinging himself off of it.

He landed in the water and swam to the land, climbing onto it. Scott peered at his reflection.

Scott was covered in blood, although some of it had been washed off in the fall. His hair clung to his forehead, his eyes flickered red, then settled back on green. Blood was smudged on his cheek - how had it gotten there? It was all over his shirt, covering the green on it, and splattered on his trousers. The edges of his shoes were stained with a mix of blood and dirt.

He didn't look like a Green. He looked like a Red.

Scott fell to his knees, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He was cackling, bent over and clutching the ground. Dirt crept under his fingernails and each laugh out of his throat was like coughing blood.

He didn't recognise himself. Not really. He wasn't a Green. He was the spitting image of a Red. Of someone who'd lost every ounce of self-restraint. Someone wild.

He looked like Pearl, who went Red early in Double Life, even though she was still on her first life.

He looked like Martyn at the end of the previous life game, dirty with blood and grime and sweat, but cackling and joyful with madness.

Scott looked like a Winner.

Herons Aren't Lightweights

The Herons base was rowdy at night.

They all gathered together, tankards of beer in hand, drinking like there was no tomorrow. There may as well not have been to them.

Cleo continued brewing up drinks, adding input to the conversations going on around her.

Scott was up on the stage with Christian, asking questions in a hushed tone, yet somehow she could still hear the slur in his voice.

Eloise sat with Water, both singing somewhat poorly to bar songs and the made-up anthem of the Herons. Olive sat beside them, joining in every now and then but mostly just working on tuning their instrument.

Owen sat at one of the tables, head in his hands. He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

"Guys? I think someone needs to take Owen to bed." Cleo called out.

"Really? Already?" Olive asked. "We've only had...had..." Olive's eyes began to droop. They downed another drink. "We've only had, like, five drinks."

Water shrugged. "I can take him. Be back soon!" Water stood up, staggering a little, then approached Owen. "C'mon, let's go. You've had enough for tonight."

Owen only groaned weakly in protest.

Once Water had carried Owen out of the tavern, Cleo glanced over at Scott. He was still talking to Christian, and was gesticulating madly.

Olive and Eloise seemed distracted enough. They wouldn't mind if the next round of drinks didn't come for a bit.

Cleo carefully walked up to Scott, then paused a little behind him.

"What do I do? I- is there anything I can...do for him? I mean, we've just started talk...talking to each other again!"

Christian merely shrugged in response. "I am not sure. For now, give him some space and a little time. Eventually things between you will get easier."

Scott's ears flushed. "I don't have time to wait that long! What if one of us goes out on an expedition and never comes back? I may never get to see him again in time, and I don't want thing to be tense between us if and when that happens!" His voice rose in pitch and volume.

For a brief second, Eloise and Olive glanced his way. Then the two of them slowly turned back to each other and their drinks.

Cleo set her hand on Scott's shoulder. He spun around and grasped at the handle of his rapier, then let go when he saw it was her. "I think you should sit down now Scott. Give Christian a break."

He nodded meekly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." Scott allowed Cleo to lead him to a seat at a table, then push him into it.

"Is it about Acho?"

Scott hesitated, then nodded. "I just...I just don't know what to do."

"Think about it in the morning. You're not thinking clearly right now. When you're sober, think about it then. For now, you can either keep drinking and drown your sorrows in alcohol, or you can take a rest like Owen. No shame in either option."

"Alcohol. Strong alcohol." He didn't stutter, and his voice was almost completely free of a slurred tone. Almost as if he hadn't had more drinks than most of the other Herons already.

"Sure?"

"Yes. I want you to give me so much alcohol that I can barely move around tomorrow. No, for the rest of the week."

Cleo sighed. It wasn't a good idea, but they were pirates.

Since when was anything they did a 'good idea'?

Olive let out a startled yelp, then a joyful squeal. "Cruppy! Hello!" Cruppy jumped at Olive's heels, rubbing against them and jumping like a puppy would. Olive bent down and stroked Cruppy, to which the crab-puppy-thing eagerly jumped into their lap for stroking convenience.

Smiling at the sight, Eloise was suddenly motivated to sing even louder and more joyfully than before. Olive joined in with equal vigour and Cruppy nestled in their lap peacefully.

Cleo shook her head with a warm grin, then grabbed the next round of drinks.

"To us!" She declared, holding her tankard tight and pushing it high into the air.

"To us!" The others parroted, with varying levels of volume and enthusiasm. Regardless, the sound could be heard well beyond the Herons' base and echoed through the town.

Water returned, arms free of Owen, and shouted, "To us!" at the top of her lungs. A delayed reaction, but a welcome one.

For the rest of the night, they all chanted the same thing over and over, falling asleep in the tavern.

They all regretted it in the morning.

But Herons weren't lightweights, and for some strange reason, they all wished to prove it.

HI!

Scott felt tremors in his body. Particles flitted around him like tiny fireflies at night, their tiny lights cast onto his body. The rings of energy on his arms emitted a low hum that filled the silence.

He took a deep breath.

The particles exploded around him, a swirling vortex of blue and orange. Scott's body slowly dissipated, breaking apart into a flurry of the particles that always clung to him. It was never a painful sensation, only slightly tingly. Sometimes there'd be an ache that spread through his limbs, but mostly it was okay. Probably would just take some...getting used to.

He reappeared back at home. From where he stood, Scott could faintly see some of the crops in his farm were nearly fully grown, and a content smile curled at his lips. Like the others, he was starting with nothing and building up from there.

Someone ran towards him. A familiar someone. Someone dressed in a thick and warm blue coat with a fur-lined hood. Someone with blond hair and bright cornflower blue eyes. A grin curled at their lips as they approached.

"Scott!"

"Hi Martyn," Scott replied. "How are you?"

"Good, good." A pregnant pause settled over the two of them.

"Wanna help me farm? I could do with an extra pair of hands." Scott gestured at the farm loosely, mostly focused on Martyn's expression.

"Sure! Happy to help."

The two of them jumped over the (admittedly quite low) fence surrounding the farm. Hefting a hoe over his shoulders, Scott strode towards the cabbages and started from there. In his peripheral vision, he spotted Martyn over near the tomatoes.

As crops were harvested and seeds were planted, Scott's eyes kept drifting over to Martyn. Something about him felt familiar.

Scott resurfaced, water beaded across his skin. His clothes were soaked, his hair too, but he couldn't bring it in himself to care. A man sat on the edge of an island, legs dangling over the edge and kicking rhythmically in the water. Scott swam over, his gills fanning out and tail swishing in mischievous mirth as he wrapped his hand around the man's ankle and yanked him into the water.

"Scott!" The man spluttered, coughing up water. Scott grinned in response and wrapped his arms around the man with an airy laugh.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," He looked up at the man's eyes. His reflection stared back. Scott's hand cupped the man's cheek. Both struggled to remain afloat; their legs kicked relentlessly, but got tangled together too often for both to continue to stay above the water's surface.

Scott swam over to the island and clambered back onto solid ground, the man in tow behind him. When both were on the island, Scott's arms were wrapped around his neck, the man's wrapped around his waist. The two let out a satisfied sigh. After a few moments, their lips pressed together for a second, and parted as soon as they'd come together.

Scott swung his hoe again. It swept the cabbages up quickly, and he scooped them up from the ground and into his inventory. Hastily replanting the seeds, he glanced over at Martyn. He seemed done with the tomatoes, and was already halfway through the potatoes. Scott went to join him.

"You okay? You seem tired." Martyn said, ever observant.

"I'm fine. Besides it's not nighttime yet."

"Did you sleep?" Scott nodded. "Okay. Good. Well, maybe we could take a break. I've not been inside your house yet. Maybe you can give me a tour?"

"Okay. Follow me." Scott put the hoe back in his inventory. The two of them jumped back over the fence and walked around to Scott's door.

Their footsteps came to a halt simultaneously. Scott's hand pushed the door open, and they both stepped inside.

"So...nice house," Martyn remarked within seconds. "It looks nice."

Scott hummed in response. "Thanks."

He took another look at Martyn. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't quite place it yet. It was like the feeling he often got with Jimmy, only he'd think about hobbit houses, flower crowns and a pufferfish with a misspelt name.

Martyn was like the sea air, coral and loyalty. Like warmth, protection and joy. But that couldn't be true. The Martyn Scott knew was cold, but jovial. He froze, not warmed. He didn't supply comfort on a lonely night riddled with nightmares of explosions, arrows piercing his body or lightning ripping through him. He was the mountains surrounding his kingdom, the ice he could control and rip through houses with. Martyn wasn't the kindness of a flower field or the brightness of a town bursting with cuddly llamas and colours. He was the snow you made snowmen with, the snowstorms you hid from in your home with a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa.

Scott was shaken from his thoughts as Martyn handed him cooked pork and sat with him to eat. He smiled, taking a bite into the food and smiling at the warmth filling his mouth. Martyn, freezer, bringer of the cold and a being of ice, had been able to bring Scott warmth indirectly.

Martyn laughed at nothing in particular. Scott laughed with him.

Fields of Green, Rivers of Red

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

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

Anything was better than this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, they were already awake.

What did it hurt?

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

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

Scott nodded in assent.

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

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

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

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

They let the night take their waking worries away.

Gem & The Scotts' First Concert

"You think this'll work?" Impulse asked, nervously peeking around the curtain.

Gem smiled. "I'm sure it's gonna be great."

Scott tapped his fingers repetitively against his arm. He glanced at the guitar laid out for him - cyan, with the green, yellow and red heart symbols running down the frets. This was a gamble; how'd they even know this would work out alright?

"This better not be someone's task," he muttered. Picking up his guitar by the strap and pulling it on, he strummed a few test chords for the umpteenth time that evening.

Impulse's hand twitched at his side, the other releasing its grip on the curtain. He took a deep breath and took a seat at the drum kit, picking up the drumsticks and tapping them against each other as quietly as possible.

Gem stood in that positive, easy-going way of hers, her hand gently gripping the microphone. Her hair cascaded down her back in tumbling ginger waves.

Their make-up had been a minor concern. Back-stage wasn't exactly the coldest, being uncomfortably hot at its best. For the past half-hour or so the trio had been vigorously panicking over whether it would stay or not.

They could only hope.

"And now, introducing..." there was a pause in the voice - Grian's, if he was correct - and the trio nodded at each other. "Gem and the Scotts!"

The curtain was yanked back.

The crowd of fellow Life members applauded and cheered. Gem plastered on that blindingly uplifting smile of hers that Scott could only wish he had.

Impulse tapped the drumsticks together over his head, counting up to four with a loud enthusiasm.

Scott strummed the first few chords. They were the ones he'd worried about most, as messing those ones up threw the whole song off its rhythm.

Gem began to sing. He went over the chords in his head, relying on a dangerous mix of muscle memory and mental effort. Her voice was powerful, stronger than the quaking earth and the rolling waves. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she belonged on that stage.

She began stamping her foot; their audience copied the motion. Scott joined in as well.

He leaned forwards into the mic in front of him and harmonised with her like they'd practised. Impulse joined in a few lines after. They sang the chorus in unison, their voices mixing together in the best possible way.

The crowd, by that point, had begun to sing along, having learnt the chorus and deeming their knowledge good enough to join in.

Hearing so many people gleefully singing along almost made him stop playing in shock. He hesitated, not long enough to disrupt the song, but enough for his forehead to start sweating in panic.

Slowly, Gem drew the song to a close.

He dared to look at Impulse, and found him smiling like a fool. Scott must have been as well, if he were being honest.

---

The rest of the evening continued mostly in the same way, only that they became more relaxed as time went on.

By the end, though, they were exhausted.

"I need to nap for three years," Scott said.

"Same." Impulse ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sweating like hell. Why's it so goddamn hot out there?"

Gem chuckled. "It's the lights."

"Damn lights." Impulse said, half-laughing at the end of his sentence.

"Wanna head home? It's pretty late." Scott checked the clock on the wall. Eleven-fifteen.

As soon as he said that, Impulse yawned, stretching his arms behind his head and arching his back. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Besides, we can play again in the morning, just us. No one else is gonna be here."

"Is that just an excuse to go home earlier?" Gem asked, a playful grin on her face.

"Would you blame if it was?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I see where you're coming from." Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Gem beckoned for them to do the same.

Scott put his guitar in its case, closed it then pulled the strap over his shoulder and held onto it with a white-knuckle grip.

Impulse just stood up, grabbing a water bottle and chugging it like he'd been wandering through a desert for days.

"Last one home does the dishes!" Impulse yelled, already bolting for the door.

"Hey!" Gem and Scott yelled simultaneously. Then, with a shared look between them, ran forwards. They shoved each other as they got to the door, squeezed through and sprinted after Impulse.

Lauren had new friends.

It was nice, to be honest. Finally, she had two friends who cared for her and actually helped her! And she had tons of fun, too! Scott gave her a staff and three spells, and Eloise taught her what friendship actually meant and was her first real friend.

That is, if she excluded Joey from the list.

Because did Joey count as a friend? Lauren didn't think so...but he did say friends betrayed each other and stole from each other. Then Eloise said that was wrong. And so did Scott. So that made Joey her not-friend. Enemy? That didn't feel right. Joey hadn't actively gone around hurting her or belittling her or anything. Then again, didn't he become her friend just because she seemed to be strong? Lauren had to think.

As she stood in her tower, she sat on the spiral staircase, somewhere in the middle, and tapped her fingers against her knees. Her mind began to wander off topic for a second, but she was quick to correct its course.

Joey wasn't a friend.

He was a not-friend. That felt better than calling him an enemy, and easier than saying he was a stranger. Because he was, in a way. How much did Lauren really know about him? He never really told her about himself.

No matter what, as Lauren stood up from the stairs, and slowly walked up to the top of her tower, and approached the railing stopping people from falling off, she leant against it and removed her hat, she knew Joey wasn't a friend. Scott and Eloise were.

It hurt to think that. Joey and her had fun. Messed about, made memories in that first dungeon. Calling him a not-friend didn't make sense. Friend, not-friend, stranger, enemy. Four options. But not a single one of them felt right.

Lauren watched the sun dip below the horizon line. Its gold light crept downwards, seeping out and revealing the overbearing blackness of night and the twinkling stars.

Maybe Joey didn't matter right now.

Lauren had new friends. And she was happy with that.

All Reigns Come To An End

It's over now.

Joey disappeared into the sunset. The sea churning below, wind in his hair. The rhythmic action of rowing the boat calmed him. No matter what, the sea would always call to him like the sirens that lived in its majestic waters. He was glad to not be alone. With others by his side, traversing the sea was even better.

Joel had ascended. He'd always known Jimmy was a toy; that reassurance wasn't exactly needed, but was satisfying. And even if Hermes...didn't seem to like him, at least his son was grown up now. And everyone left him. So he made his goodbyes and joined the other Lore Gods.

Scott and Owen were adventuring together. Scott delighted in the thrill of the risk; the dangers that came with raiding tombs and collecting things. Even if that skull came to mind, Owen was always there to comfort him. He was rarely afforded privacy with Owen, but he didn't mind. They both did things for Chromia, even though Scott definitely did more. Adventure called to them both, and they were kindred spirits bonded together with it.

Shelby eventually chose her track of magic. Lightning coursed through her veins, and the storms bent to her will. She grinned as the rain poured outside her home. That date with Katherine had been wonderful. Perhaps she could go on one with her later. But that letter in her letterbox wouldn't read itself.

Katherine's curse was gone now. Even though her parents weren't too keen on her monster-hunting, the monsters would always exist. Who else would get rid of them? She delighted in protecting her kingdom. And visiting Shelby didn't sound too bad. She did promise a date after all.

FWhip smiled as the racket of the tavern filled his ears. Downing another goblet of mead, he wiped his mouth with his hand and joined the drunkards in their joyful melody. Ecstasy rode through his veins and he did nothing to stop it. Surrounded by friends, he eased into his own comfort.

Pix was satisfied. He'd done everything he'd wanted. Pride flowed through him as he looked upon everything he had accomplished and he couldn't resist the relieved grin that curled at his lips.

Jimmy protected Tumble Town as best he could. The Old Sheriff was brilliant to be around, if not a little odd from time to time. He was content. Sure, there'd be bandits one way or another. The law would always need upholding. But for now? Rest sounded good. And being with the Old Sheriff? Seemed like a nice ending to him.

Oli's Olipeligo was beautiful. His own refuge. His home. Old memories of old faces still popped in from time to time, but he didn't need them. Memories of the Orb, of vampires and angels, of thornlings and dragons, had all but gone now. Replaced by collectors and princesses, by sheriffs and gods and goblins.

Everyone's reign was over. Would new ones begin, or were the history books finally complete?

For now, their reigns had come to an end.

It was over now.

Limited Life Winner Symbolism

So I had a few ideas for the symbolism of the winner of Limited Life and this is it:

The Sky: As the timer ticks down, the Sky remains the same. They change with time as all may do, but ultimately they remain loyal and are still the same person no matter what. They live their life as the others around them focus on the dwindling of time left to live. At the end of it all, the Sky will honour the fallen and remember them all eternally, even in death.

The Sea: Strong and powerful, the Sea is dedicated to protecting those closest to them. Their waves, raging or calm, move with the pull of the Moon and smile up at the Stars. At the end of it all, when those around them are dead and gone, the Sea will welcome its fate with open arms.

The Void: They take and take relentlessly, prepared to kill to delay their inevitable death. The Void is ready to die, but will go out swinging or won't go out at all. Theatrical and brave, they will fight until the end and accept their death with open arms, prepared to join the others.

This is all I have for now!