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With his crossbow aiming at a fleeing Mumbo and his ears still annoyingly ringing from the end crystal blowing up in his face, Grian fires arrow after arrow, attempting to hit the man who tried to kill him just moments before.
He thought he could trust Mumbo! Yeah, Mumbo’s red now, but they’re still friends. The man is still a Southlander at heart!
Arrows fly from Magical Mountain, Jimmy joining Grian in the pointless effort to kill Mumbo, the target too quick and too far away to reasonably hit. “I’m sending a warning shot,” he murmurs, placing an arrow on the shelf of his bow and firing near Mumbo.
Grian grunts, jumping down to a lower level to raise his chances of hitting the man. “This isn’t a warning shot, he deserves this,” he calls to Jim, continuing to load his crossbow repeatedly. He just can’t seem to get a shot on him!
“I guess you can retaliate,” Martyn mutters to himself, thinking over the rules of the death match, “Yeah, true.” He starts to head up towards where Scar stands and snickers at something. Likely the idea of Grian taking Mumbo out of the game first.
It would be quite funny, now that he thinks about it.
Groaning, Grian follows Martyn up, pulling Jimmy along with him. When the Southlanders reach the top of Magical Mountain, they see Scar fretting over his blown-up chests, dumping items in already full chests, causing those to overflow.
They all crouch down and start shoveling the items into new, empty chests in an attempt to help Scar the best they can. His storage was just blown up after all.
Scar abruptly turns away and cups his hands around his mouth. “There is no respect for Monopoly Mountain!” he yells at Mumbo, voice booming and brimming with subtle anger.
Grian cackles at Scar’s antics and fury, he hasn’t seen them much this season, but he remembers them well from the desert and Monopoly Mountain.
Wait.
“Monopoly Mountain? What?” Martyn questions, his laugh replacing Grian’s silence. Scar, in response, furrows his brows and shrugs. He plays it off with a chuckle, his words not reaching Grian’s ears.
Wait a moment.
This isn’t Third Life.
So then, how does Scar know about that? How does he know about Monopoly Mountain?
He shouldn’t, right?
Only the victor remembers. Or did their “joint win” actually count as a double victory?
Grian subtly looks over his shoulder and scans Scar's face for anything that can help him, but he finds nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would suggest that Scar remembers.
Ringing fills Grian’s ears again as if a creeper blew up beside him.
It grows louder, overwhelming all of Grian’s senses. And all of a sudden, deep crimson blood pools in Grian’s hands, the sensation making his skin crawl
Scar lays lifeless beneath him, broken nose and a smidge of blood in the corner of his mouth. The left side of his jaw is bruised and starting to swell, his throat wrapped in an angry red handprint as if someone had been choking him.
As if Grian had been choking him, holding him down as he beat Scar’s broken face.
The sand below clumps from the blood pouring from Grian’s hands. There shouldn’t be this much blood, but it continues to drip onto Scar’s chest and flow into the sand. His hair is dusty with the stuff, as is Grian’s.
His wings itch, everything itches, the sensation overwhelming but quelled by the sight of his friend dead beneath him.
Grian does not feel victorious, and neither does Scar. Because he’s dead.
Scar doesn’t win. Scar doesn’t remember.
“Grian!” Jimmy yells in his ear, the itch and the sand disappear in an instant. The blood coating his hands seems to remain. Scar’s still there as well, but he’s alive now and wearing a look of worry on his face. “Grian are you good? We lost you there, buddy.” Grian chuckles, it feels hollow inside.
“Yeah, just zoned out there, Scar. Let’s, uh, let’s head back, yeah Tim?” Jimmy smiles and helps Grian up. He feels weak. He doesn’t need help from anyone, but he can’t help but let it happen as Jimmy pulls Grian to his feet.
He wipes his hands on his pants, a futile attempt to rid them of the blood that stains them.
“We probably should head back, you said Mumbo blew up the base?” Grian’s eyebrows raise at that, remembering the conversation prior to Mumbo’s arrival. “Yep, let’s go check out the damage, Martyn!” he calls out.
Martyn nods and follows after the two. “Thanks, Scar!” Grian yells as they leave, hands covered in the blood of the man he so desperately misses.
‘Thank you for being my friend’ he does not say.
Grian doesn’t reserve the right to call him that.