[Mainly Grian; slight mention of Iskall, Joe Hills, Xisuma, and Doc]
A prequel to “The Problem with People”. Featuring Grian first meeting the hermits. For Grian, he hasn’t seen any other people, and has spent weeks alone in the new world, what will he do when suddenly new people come pouring in?
It was a normal, wonderful day.
It was dawn, a brand new start of a day. The brit pranced around the newly discovered island, who had just parked his roughly crafted oak boat onto the shore. Grian has been exploring for a good while now, it was just him in this world, and while it has been a bit too quiet for his liking, his element kept him company. It was the second day of exploring, and his wings have been a bit tired out, so he had temporality traveled by boat. The island he was on was considerably big, big enough for him to explore for a while and get some food on before he moves on. And so far? He had found a cute rabbit, and some sheep on the island he can shear for wool.
Grian was just quietly minding his own business. Suddenly, a portal began to materialize, the rabbit jumped out from the blonde's arms, startling him. He turned and looked around in all directions, all the other animals began to run as well. He finally rests his sight on the portal, as it lit up with an eerie purple light, voices can be heard from the other side.
Something within him was telling him to run, his element was telling him to get as far as people, that they were better safe than sorry. But Grian's natural morbid curiosity nailed him to the wet, ocean brushed grass. As the voices from the portal become more vivid and clear, he was becoming more and more unsure of what he was supposed to be feeling: Fear? Confusion? Excitement? He had no idea. His wings enclosed behind his back, almost as if to make him feel safer, he retreated behind a small hill.
A gloved hand reached through the portal.
Grian jumped, taking a step back, pressing himself against the dirt blocks. He could feel his element slowly becoming more and more hostile, as the once peaceful wind on the island became wilder and constantly changed directions. As the first person showed up, Grian observed them, he hasn't noticed him yet. The stranger had a helmet that was similar to a gas mask, with a dull green suit. He was the only one to show up through that portal, almost to scout things out. Grian watched him, as he walked back into the portal to do something, Maybe to Inform? But inform who? He felt a chill up his spine, he didn't like the idea of his little own bubble in the world being popped, but it was people! Better than talking to his own element for social interaction.
The wind changed directions just to slap a leaf onto Grian's face, almost as if to tell him to shut up.
Grian snickered, he left the hill that was hiding behind, much against his element's will. He approached the portal, almost tempted to go through it himself. The brit swatted at the purple portal matter, to test it was really real or not before he was greeted with a wave of people coming out from the portal. Grian squeaked, and in reaction to the sudden release of strong emotions; the wind picked up and became strong enough to push everyone back into the portal.
He quickly picked up a piece of paper that was left in his boat and scribbled something on. The blonde threw it into the portal, hoping for the best as he waited for any kind of response, he can't just lose people like this, anyone is fine, anyone other than just his own element.
At last, the helmeted lad had poked his head through the portal again, Grian immediately stood up from sitting, admittedly still frightened. But more or so less now.
He spoke in a British accent, a hint of apologeticness in his voice. "I'm deeply sorry for that, really sorry if we scared ya, didn't mean it." Before quickly going back into the portal to bring out the rest of the people, some of them Grian had recognized from the first attempt to enter from the portal.
Grian mentally prepared himself, but he was definitely not expecting anything like this.
All the new people, at this point, was just circling him. Grian held his arm uncomfortably, "...Hi? I suppose..." He squeaked.
The first thing someone had immediately done was throw one rose at him. Cool, I guess.
Grian picked it up, and but the rose in his hand.
"...Right, so who are you exactly?" A man with a heavy Swedish accent questioned, he would have laughed at that accent if it wasn't for the fact that multiple people are staring at him.
"Erm, I'm Grian?"
Before he could reply, another person pushed the Swedish out of the way. He wore a blue shirt and had a shaggy hair cut, and seemed kind. Grian relaxed a bit but was still very wary.
"'lright, howdy!" He began. "Joe Hills here. 'scuse their rude manners, we don't get new hermits very often, y'know?" This Joe says with a faint southern accent could be heard, however not as heavy as the former.
Grian stretched his wings out of nervousness. This was all very much a shock, "Hermits? What are you all going on about? Am I going to die?" He rambled. Obviously, very confused.
"Uh, right, X, can you explain?" Someone had said, the one with the helmet turned towards the blonde, he was previously staring at the portal. Focused on something else. He moved his attention away and onto Grian, and sighed. He took his helmet off out of respect and held out his hand. "Nice to meet ya, the name's Xisuma, mostly everyone calls me X for short." Grian took out in wariness and shook it.
Someone started to chat in the background.
"Hold up, shouldn't we be more careful? Last time we let some random stranger in it was Evil X and we all know what happened-"
"Come on dude, Evil X wasn't that bad, he only mildly burned up the place!"
Grian ignored it and focused on Xisuma. "So, understandably, you must be really confused right now." He started. The winged brit only nodded in response. "The group here, including me, call ourselves hermits, and collectively, our adventures is called hermitcraft. Of course, you are here before us in this world, so that means you were meant to join us. Although, you did push us back towards the portal with your element. That was kind of rude of ya."
The air shifted a bit.
"E-erm, it was really not my fault?"
"What do ya mean it wasn't--"
He was starting to get really uncomfortable with the situation, Grian considered flying away at this moment, it was too much. He quickly turned around, begging his element to work with him, and jumped off a small cliff and flew off.
Summary: Mumbo’s mole duties are finally addressed.
Doc’s grip on his arm is sudden and tight.
“We need to talk.”
His voice is menacingly low, and Mumbo can feel himself getting charged from Doc. ‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ he thinks as the German practically drags Mumbo out to the battle field. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, but it’s still difficult not to stumble with Doc’s quick pace.
Ren is waiting by a seemingly stable chair once Doc and Mumbo are there. He also doesn’t look pleased, but his gaze is a bit softer than the charged man dragging the redstoner.
Mumbo is virtually thrown down into the seat. Doc’s glare is sharp and Mumbo can’t keep eye contact for longer than a couple seconds.His eyes turn to Ren’s, a bit pleadingly. Ren doesn’t offer any consolation.
He’s been found out.
“Uh. Well, what’s this,” Mumbo laughs nervously. He doesn’t know what to expect.
“You know what this is,” Doc’s voice is hard as steel and as cold as it too.
Mumbo gulps. He hears pistons move under his seat and suddenly he’s falling. He hears the shatter of a splash potion and feels the effects of poison. His yelp of surprise is a bit late and is cut off with him hitting the ground.
‘A trapped chair, huh? Clever,’ his thoughts run rampant but this is one that sticks out. He’s surrounded by apparent never ending grey. He sits up, brushes his shoulders and straightens his tie. Might as well look as presentable as possible for what’s about to happen.
“Mumbo...” Doc’s voice comes from out of the grey and Mumbo can barely pinpoint where from before the man is standing in front of him in the small space. Ren follows silently. He still looks sorry, but he doesn’t say anything.
Mumbo turns to Doc. “Did you really think you could hide from us, Mumbo?” Doc has his hand on his trident. Not a good sign. Mumbo’s hands clench into fists at his sides. It doesn’t take a psychic to tell he’s scared.
Doc gives Mumbo a smile. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small book. The so-called “Mole Orders” from G-Team he’d given to Ren. Doc holds it out to Mumbo and the suited man hesitantly reaches out. He takes the book and flips open to the page of writing, obviously scrawled by Mumbo’s hand. The smudges of redstone on the page doesn’t help much either.
He sighs as he closes the book. He clears his throat and says, “Well, you see, G-Team--” he says the title with a forced tone of distaste “--they asked me to make some traps on the battle grounds, so I told you about it- how I’ve made the traps- to warn you not to use them so I could gain your trust-”
“I think,” Doc interrupts, “that your ‘double agent’ duties are more.. triple agent duties, no?” His smile is wide and very fake. His trident is by his side now, and there’s small arcs of electricity flickering between the points.
Mumbo gulps again, feeling sweat gather on his brow. He risks a glance away from Doc to Ren, who looks more confused than anything. He’d just gotten back from taking care of urgent repairs in the HRN to have Mumbo blabbing about some “mole duties.” It makes sense that he’d go to their leader.
Mumbo curses himself in his head. ‘I was never cut out to be a mole in the first place,’ he frowns in real distaste for himself and the situation. He eyes Doc’s trident warily. The electricity arcing between the points is still there, now consonant with no flickering. His eyes flash up to Doc’s, and they do not look pleased at all.
The hair on Mumbo’s neck stands up with the electricity coursing through the air, and he has no doubt that Ren’s hair is too. He takes a step back, almost tripping over the chair and his back hits a wall. The space is even smaller than he’d thought. He’s trapped.
Ren visibly tenses with panic as he watches the scene unfold. Doc takes a slow step towards Mumbo, his hand gripping the trident tighter, his dark eyes boring into Mumbo’s wide ones. There is no smile on his face now.
-----
“Hello!?” A high-pitched British voice calls from above. Mumbo almost falls in relief.
Grian’s here. He’s safe.
Doc stands up straight and his trident stops sparking. He looks extremely dis-pleased by this timing. “Stay. Here.” He points at Mumbo with a scowl. Mumbo flinches back, not wanting to be shocked. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”
Doc leaves as quickly as he had first shown up, Ren lingers for a moment to give Mumbo a sorrowful look. Mumbo glares in return. Ren wasn’t expecting that response apparently, as his eyes widen in shock before he scampers off with Doc. Seems Mumbo can be scary when he wants to as well.
There’s faint conversation from above. Doc had put on his happy façade again from what Mumbo could hear. He suspects Grian doesn’t know why he’s been called here by the opposing team’s leader yet. This will be disappointing on both ends.
He hears their steps on the ladder. He stays put. The last thing he needs besides Grian being disappointed in him is Doc snapping and frying them all.
He listens to them chat for a moment longer before Doc’s voice rings out, “Mumbo!” That must be his cue. He schools his face, takes a breath and walks through the fake wall, trying to be prepared for whats sure to come.
He’s met with a face of such disappointment that it stops him in his tracks. His line of a mouth is replaced by a small frown. He hesitates to move any further than he has.
He doesn’t know which side to stand on. They’re equally unwelcoming.
Grian starts to sigh but cuts himself off to help stabilize his tall mustached friend. Ren had pushed him.
“Oh, Mumbo,” Grian let’s his sigh out and turns to Doc, knowing what the German wants. Payment.
Mumbo stands quietly behind Grian as negotiations are made.
“No Joe on their side to rush over and give him a second wind, no soothing touch to tell him it’s okay. Just him, the blazing sky, and a grass that is starting to look too green.” [wels pushes himself too hard and it hurts.]
A gasp, a single step missed because of slippery ground, and he’s done for.
The arrow tears through him like a knife through butter, splitting his skin and burying itself deep, deep inside his side. It hurts, god, it hurts so bad. It feels like he’s going to fall apart. He’s got armor, yes, but how much does iron armor really do against the power of a fully charged fully enchanted bow that Grian’s just aimed at him? He’s a good fighter, he knows, but there’s only so much Wels can do to evade an aerial assault and Grian’s just gotten his lucky break.
He resists falling to his knees, curling over, and crying like he wants to. He’s not a fool, he knows what being down a member means, especially in a team where they’ve got less people in the first place. And…they don’t have a healer. No Joe on their side to rush over and give him a second wind, no soothing touch to tell him it’s okay. Just him, the blazing sky, and a grass that is starting to look too green.
Get up, he tells himself. Get up. Get out there. Fight.
It’d be so easy, he thinks, to just lie down and let his teammates help. Let False cover him while Impulse helps him back over, or ask Xisuma to rewind time, or just simply stagger back to base by himself (but he knows, there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to get all the way back. it’s futilefutilefutile). It’d take so little to call out, let out a pained cry like he’s biting back and have their leader command his friends to his aid.
A knight never takes the easy way out. A knight’s duty is to serve his lord, and his people, and he will not let them down. He must not fail, he thinks. Don’t let them down.
But it hurts, it hurts so bad that he don’t think he wants to be here anymore. He wants to be far, far, away where nothing can hurt him and he’s safe again just having fun with his friends and he doesn’t have to worry if the tiny winged fellow he just lent some item frames the other day could be preparing to gut him open like a fish. It hurts, doesn’t it? To see how fast everything falls apart, how fast just one mistake can lead to a world of hurt? But his job is to push past that hurt. A knight does not fall.
He thinks that it’s getting worse, he can feel the blood seeping through his fingers that he’s pressing tightly to his body like that’ll make it hurt any less. His armor and dark underclothes hide it, he hope. He prays. He grits his teeth, gingerly moves behind a hill, and prepares to remove the arrow—can’t have his team asking awkward questions.
Wels takes a deep breath, bites down on a stick, and pulls.
Blood fills his mouth, his ears ring, everything hurts hurts hurts and he wants it to stop so so bad. The arrow was barbed, the son of a bitch, and it hurts so much his skin is coming apart and soon the armor will be the only thing left. There’s a quiet scream ringing in his ears, he’s trying to see who it is before realizing he’s the one screaming and there are tears in his eyes, there are tears running down the metal, and hot, hot blood coating the entire side of his armor. He’s said that he shouldn’t show weakness, but everything hurts so much—he’s never felt this kind of pain before, never felt the kind of pain that makes you feel like you can’t move or breath or do anything for fear of it worsening and every time you move each one of your muscles screams wrong, please, don’t, not anymore, and it takes a moment for him to realize he’s the one whispering those words out loud.
He wants someone to make it better. He wants to be able to get away from it all, to be able to ask to be taken out of the field, to be able to rest at base with some water and all traces of blood gone from the shining, shining armor. Wels wants someone to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to take all this responsibility.
But of course, nobody does. Why would they?
He gets up, and warm blood runs down his body and pain screams in his mind like the very action of getting up is impossible. It’s not, he tells himself, and ignores the spots flashing in his vision.
It’s over the top of the hill that he sees Xisuma, exhausted and leaning on a nearby tree, gesture to him. “You…hah…feeling alright mate?” He gets out, and gestures to his general hunched over posture.
Wels feels intense guilt rush through him for even thinking that he should ask to rewind time for something as trivial as an arrow wound. He steels himself, and shouts out, “I’m fine! Just was catching my breath for a bit.”
“Good! Actually, if you can…mind taking out Stress or Iskall over there? They’re causing us a lotta trouble…” He doesn’t know if he can even get over there. But. His teammate is depending on him, he can’t let Xisuma know his failure.
He can’t talk, or he thinks he might throw up. He gives a thumbs up, and starts to try to get anywhere near them.
Every step hurts, every step feels like his body is going to deconstruct and fling itself somewhere far into the stars and the universe. He’s not sure whether it’s his own will or the armor holding himself up at this point, but he soldiers on anyways.
He finally, finally gets near them. He doesn’t think they notice. He launches himself into the air completely ignoring the spots that flash and the burning hot-cold hole in his side and the blood drying sticky to his armor. He brings his sword down, an executioner at the table, and he doesn’t know whether he’s killing himself or the others.
It hurts, he wants to say. Please, can I have help? Can you make me feel better? But that’s so pathetic and weak and not at all helpful. He manages to get a hit on Stress before she sends him flying with ice, and that’s when he realizes that will might not be enough to keep him going.
He’s lying on the ground, ice coating his armor and the ground around him like some sort of twisted armor enchantment. It’s so cold, so so so cold and he can’t tell whether this is better or whether the burning heat of earlier is preferable. He’s just so tired.
There’s tears dropping onto the ground. He thinks it’s him. He can’t stop them anymore, can’t force them back. Doesn’t even have the energy to try to get up for a second strike.
He thinks his armor’s sprung a leak, maybe. He sees red swirl out around him, in some sick facsimile of finger paints on paper. He dips his finger in them and moves them around in the ice, forming small patterns.
He can’t move. Why can’t he move? Why did he need to move?
You can’t stop, you know, he tells himself. You’re a knight. You’re not a burden, are you? Just a pathetic weakling who can’t even fulfill his destiny? He knows. He knows he’s not quite enough, that he’s bleeding out on a bed of cracked ice and that he feels like his spirit is increasingly drifting from his body.
Joe, he croaks, but he doesn’t think he made any sound. He’s past saving, probably. Nobody around to help.
He thinks, if he can’t be of use, he could at least put Stress out of commission. He forces himself up. He can’t feel his hands.
He moves towards Stress. Jumps up with mechanical accuracy. His mind is overloading.
Brings the blade down. Twist at the last second. He’s not real, can’t feel anything at all.
Stress collapses. He starts moving, stiff-legged march, to his side of the field. He lied, he can feel the heat of the blood inside his armor.
He’s coming over the dip in the ground, marching, and he sees the sun dyed red and the grass behind him red in some weird mockery of a snow golem, and he laughs. Laughs and it hurts more so he laughs again.
His shirt is soaked, but he can’t really feel it. Just feels the weight. His armor’s a dull red.
He thinks he’s hurting, can’t tell anymore, just knows that his atoms are falling apart and his world is so bright and he’s failed his teammates.
Wels stumbles in front of Ren, still mostly unscathed, and looks at him with eyes with nothing behind them. “Please make it stop. Please. I’ll do anything, I know I fucked up, just make it stop.”
Ren takes a look at Wels, looks at the trail of blood, and freezes up. “I—man, what? Are you okay? What do you need?” His voice is pitching up in panic. “Wels, listen, we gotta get you to Joe or something. Or back to base. I’ll take you back, let me just let Doc know,--”
He’s cut off be Wels grasping his wrist with a blood-stained hand, knuckles turning white from the force. “No, they can’t know I didn’t do my job.” His voice is little more than a whisper. “I can keep going…”
Ren decides it’s not worth it. “DOC! Please, you gotta come quick man, Wels got hit or something and now he’s bleeding out here and I don’t know what to do!” He shouts across the field.
Doc looks over, distracted, and almost gets hit by Iskall. “WHAT? But Wels seemed fine when I saw him earlier—hold on! I’m heading over.”
Wels is swaying on his feet, eyes starting to go completely blank. “I’m fine.”
It’s in the next instant that Wels collapses, and Ren rushes to catch him before he hits the ground. His eyes are rolled back in his head, his skin is paper-white, and that’s before he notices the giant wound in his side. It’s—it’s bad.
He thinks he knows now why Wels was so pale and out of it.
Doc comes over, and he lets out a horrified gasp at the condition of their teammate. “...What happened? Why didn’t he let us know?”
“I think he didn’t want us to know, Doc…” Ren hesitantly says. They both sit on their heels, an awkward silence settling over the group. There’s still sounds of metal clashing behind them. “I guess, I’ll be taking him back to base?”
“God, please do. He’s so messed up, he shouldn’t have been out here fighting in the first place…” Doc says. “I’m so sorry, man,” he whispers in an aside to the completely unconscious Wels.
Ren picks up Wels in an awkward kind of side-carry, because jesus that armor was heavy, and prepares to head back to base. He thinks about what Wels was doing, and why he didn’t just tell them. He’ll talk to him after he wakes up, Ren thinks.
Until then, his top priority was going to be making sure that Wels’ wound and his stuff is taken care of until he gets better. That’s what friends do for each other.
Hello! Mod Seagrass here, posting another story for your viewing pleasure. Hope you enjoy!
OVERCLOCK ( 2.9k ; hurt/comfort)
In the former fic, I explored the details of the interaction between redstone and electricity/lightning. In Overclock, that power is taken to an extreme--with devastating consequences.
TW: injury, electrocution, rather graphic description of pain
They’re all fighting their best. It’s just a skirmish battle, nothing special, but who would they be if they didn’t put 100% into each and every fight? Habituality is the enemy of creativity, Joe’s said, and they’re inclined to stick by what he says even if they are on different sides. He’s always been a smart man.
Speaking of Joe, the other’s hunched over someone’s body trying to heal the nasty after effects of electrocution. He’s sorry, he thinks. But in the words of Joe himself, All’s fair in love and war.
—
Doc had called Mumbo over, with a glint in his eyes, and for a second he panics: had he been found out? Had he been discovered, as the mole he was? It’s an entirely logical path to take, he thinks. After all, Doc’s a pretty scary guy when he’s mad; wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that.
He can’t hurt Mumbo directly with his element, seeing as how Mumbo would just get powered up by the charge, but he’s got plenty of other teammates that could do whatever damage they wanted without repercussions—and considering the loyalty that they’ve got to their leader (not you not you not you), it wouldn’t be a fun time.
There’s a gentle shk-shk sound, and Mumbo picks his way over to see a stack of papers spread out on the table and a small stack of fireworks. “So, what’s all this for?” He’s relieved out of his mind that those are not his personal papers that somehow Doc had discovered.
“We’ve received intel that they’re going to hit on our southern border at around 20 ticks this night. Not too bad, from what I’ve heard, but still—a loss of a pet bird stings the same as the loss of a loved one.”
Mumbo had known that already, had been warned to stay out of this fight if he could. They didn’t want him getting accidentally hurt in a struggle, and risk outing himself. He’d been very, very careful to avoid taking pain medicine in any way when around team STAR, for fear of his mouth blabbering something the rest of him resolutely did not want to say, but accidents did happen—better to stay on the safe side.
“And we’re going to…?”
“We’re going to fight back, of course. Don’t want to get into another fight, but that’s how it is,” he says with a shrug. “Ready?”
Ah. Damn. “Where’s the others?”
“Don’t need ‘em, I think. I wouldn’t want to bother them, it’s better for them to get their sleep. And just between you and me, we both know you weren’t sleeping tonight anyways.”
His blood runs ice-cold. He couldn’t have, he was so careful—
“Lighten up, man. Meant nothing by it, just wanted to say that I’ve noticed you’re a light sleeper. Now, are we ready or not?”
He nods. Better get this over with. “Yeah, let me just grab my gear. I’ll be ready in a few.”
Tucking a notebook into his suit, Mumbo rushes to grab whatever he can. Emergency supplies, healing items, the like. Hopefully they wouldn’t hit as hard, since they knew him…
—
The moon’s rising high over the swamp, and all that she hears is the sound of crackling thunder striking down again and again. It’s just him and Doc, and he’s fallen easily into his role: provide defense to match Doc’s offense.
He knows that G-Team would have most likely more members than they did, but he couldn’t quite manage to see them, is all. Joe’s here, he knows; wouldn’t want to leave their main healer behind. Iskall’s here, obviously—of course they’d bring him to a damned swamp biome. He suspects Stress is here, he can hear a quiet shattering sound echoing every now and then. And Grian’s here too, giving him a panicked glance before taking off again to try to channel some power towards Mumbo to knock him off his feet.
A powerful group, to be sure. He was almost hoping that he and Doc would be beat quickly and they could go back to the base. Luck, it seemed, had other plans.
—
The tide of battle changes rapidly when Doc realizes the swamp water conducts electricity. So far he’s been directing it at various hermits, most often Grian (he whispers in an aside to Mumbo, take out the leader and you take the whole team out) but it’s been doing minimal damage and Doc’s not willing to use their trump card quite yet.
It’s understandable, then, how his eyes light up upon the crackle that rises from the earth when he slams his trident down in frustration. Eyes darting to the side, he asks a silent question: Do you see? Can you see the potential? Mumbo nods, torn. His team or victory.
Doc’s either too absorbed to notice the conflict, or just doesn’t care. He yells silent victory to the moon, and buries the trident into the earth with a shout: “Have fun!”
It takes a while for it to sink in, but Doc is steadfast. He’s clutching the trident between his hands so tight his knuckles are whitening, supercharging it up with thousands of volts at once and dear lord it’s terrifying to watch. It’s quickly becoming a beacon in the middle of the swamp, and G-Team draws out of the shadows, attracted by the light as moths to a flame.
He almost cries out a warning then, cries out that this will hurt bad. It’s fine for him, he thinks. It’s fine for him to get thousands of volts running through his body—it just recharges him, tips him over his natural limit and grants him a rush of almost unlimited power. For his team? It’ll be bad. Doc won’t hurt them seriously enough to be out of commission forever (for all his power, he’s not a harsh or cruel man), and he sees Joe as a silent sparrow perched in a birch tree, but the experience is still quite harrowing—and he’d prefer to spare his team that pain.
He pushes it down. Pushes down the cry on his lips, and taps Doc on the shoulder—should he take to the trees? Doc responds with a nod. Hit Grian while he’s down, he says in his eyes. Remember. It’s like a house of cards—one falls and they all fall with it. He doesn’t want to, but. They should understand.
He flees.
—
He’s sitting next to Joe, who’s checking him for any injuries and quietly tsk’ing over scratches from months ago. He misses him, he thinks. They’ll be “enemies” again in a second, but it’s nice to snatch moments like this where he can.
Mumbo knows what moment he’s waiting for. Could see it in Doc’s eyes as clear as anything. He’s waiting for Grian to land, to come face Doc in the swamp. Grian’s flight is limited, free as though he might seem, and it must run out eventually.
When Grian lands, knees bent, a picture of perfect poise, several things happen in rapid succession.
Joe tenses up next to him.
The rest of G-Team floods out of the relative safety of the boggy swampland, joining Grian in the water.
A ripple runs along the riverbank, heading for Doc. (Iskall’s a smart one, he thinks. Good man.)
Doc notices the ripple, bares his teeth in some semblance of a grin, and twists the trident.
And then.
And then, electricity lights up the night sky brighter than day.
It arcs and sweeps across the water, jumping and twisting and weaving around like it was almost eager to free itself.
It runs through the water, through the millions of particles of water, and strikes G-Team like star come down from the heavens.
It hits Iskall first. It hits him as he’s attempting to manipulate this biome further into their favor, it hits him underwater and hits him hard. When he comes back up (after a long time, too long, he thinks) he’s gasping and his body is sparking all over like he’s about to explode. The pain’s clear in his eyes, and he flees from the water, dragging himself out with a pained grimace and clenched teeth. One down.
The electricity snakes towards Stress next. She’s got a little more warning, not quite the brutal direct hit Iskall took, but she’s equally ineffective in the face of the combination of devastating power and the perfect medium to deliver it. Ice forms under her feet as she tries to freeze the water fast enough to stop the electricity and fast enough for her to get away, but the speed at which the electricity arrives—it shatters under her like glass. It frames her face in a strange halo for half a second before slamming her to the ground under its force, and she manages to gather her wits enough to stumble off the swamp, thin snow-melt ice under her; hands trembling and voice shaking as she calls a warning to Stay out of the water, for the love of god, (watch yourself watch yourself and maybe you won’t get hurt the way we did).
Joe’s watching, horrified, for half a second before he snaps out of his trance and sprints to them to do what he can. They’re healing up, slowly, and would probably try to get back into battle later—but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is Grian, and Doc standing across from him with the same grin carved into his face.
He’s in shock, Mumbo thinks. At how fast his team was taken out, at how they knew of the attack. It’s the split second of hesitation before he unfurls his wings to try to take off again that seals his fate.
Grian crouches down, ready to leap up, and a single tip of his wings skim the water. Doc twists the trident again, forcefully, and then. Blue lightning leaps up, eagerly waiting to consume and twist and burn whatever it can find. And it happens to find Grian’s wings dipped ever-so-slightly into the water.
There’s a charred scent in the air, and Grian’s eyes are blown wide open. He can see the moon. There’s a little sound, and then. He tips over, falling into the water. Doc hurriedly shuts off the power (that much all over his body would hurt him more than was necessary or recoverable, he thinks) and gestures, searching the trees with his eyes.
Joe’s got his hands tied with the other two, and Grian’s just lying there. Not able to get up, not able to take off, essentially dead in the water, he thinks in some sort of morbid humor. He doesn’t want to hurt Grian. Neither does Doc, he knows, but Mumbo’s got the barrier of his mole status to fight through every single time he looks to injure with intent. He takes a deep breath (sorry sorry sorry) and steps out behind Grian, about to thrust his hand forward and bring him down even further, when.
Stress shouts, “Go! Get up!” and sends a wave of ice through her scream to lift Grian in the air. It boosts him up, launches him into the air, and Grian shakes out his waterlogged, heavily injured wings in the brief time Stress bought him enough to gain a few feet into the air.
No! If he fights, they all fight, and I can’t have the battle continuing. I can’t risk it. (They can’t get hurt further by me and Doc.)
He justifies it that way in his head, justifies leaping up behind his figure silhouetted in the moonlight to deliver a blow with redstone he has ready to Grian’s head—hopefully enough to knock him out.
It’s at that moment Doc lets out a cry of anger, and sends a bolt streaking through the air above Grian’s head to force him to flinch out of the air. It’s at that moment he slams his trident in frustration into the water again. And it’s at that moment that Mumbo accidentally takes the strike meant for Grian, and slams into the water. The still charged water. The water which is currently overflowing with raw elemental power, and looking for an outlet.
He thinks he’s fine for the brief half second he sinks into the water, thinks he’ll be able to stand it as he’s done before and maybe even receive some sort of boost. Those thoughts are dispelled in the next instant.
—
Energy’s flowing through his body and out, circling and cycling through with no regard for the mortal vessel it’s being held in, and he thinks he understands what death is.
he feels the moon
the stars
the water, the sky, the universe, he thinks he tastes blood on his lips.
he can’t taste much of anything now, he thinks. he’s raw power, unfiltered, screaming to be let free to be let out to be uncaged
He thinks he forgot his name. Did he have one?
He’s the universe. He’s the starry night blinking out a message. He’s a signal, a beacon, every single message sent out in the universe, desperately seeking a response, it hurtsithurtsithurts
He’s just a mass of carbon of raw spacedust crumbling as the sky turns and the earth turns or maybe they’re one and the same and he’s just a dot in the universe
He’s falling apart the longer it goes on, he thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t. He can’t tell anymore, the difference between him and the ground and the water he can’t remember what he was doing
He thinks he hears screaming, from far beyond. From the edge of the world, maybe.
There’s too much power arcing through him, too much for him to handle, there’s no way to direct it because how can you direct the ocean? Without direction it’s unhinged, just passing through, using him as a train station, leaving pain and pain and pain in its wake.
Hey, something shouts. Hey, no, wake up, you’re not dying on my watch, d’you hear me? Wake up! Wake up! You have to wake up!
He wants to. Maybe. It’d hurt more if he opened his eyes, right? It’d be a lot easier to just give himself over to the raw power clearly looking to burn and consume anything in its wake. He can’t tell what he wants anymore.
I don’t care if it hurts! Wake UP! Joe, work faster, please, I swear I’m not trying to rush you but do you hear it? The stuff he’s saying?
He doesn’t know what’s happening. Should he be awake? He tries to pry his eyes (eyes?) open, and is immediately greeted with overwhelming pain. Everything is too much, too bright too dark too cold too hot and he can’t stand it, he thinks that the overload that had been streaming through his body would almost be preferable. “Oh, thank God, you’re finally awake.” Who…?
Joe looks up from his work to glare at Mumbo. He gives a small, tight-lipped shake of the head, speaking a thousand words in a gesture. Had G-Team lost then?
“Hey. Hey. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up.” He’s starting to recognize faces and shapes again, which means he unfortunately has the displeasure of seeing Doc’s face looming over him. “I won’t hesitate to slap you awake again.”
He opens his mouth, hoping he hasn’t forgotten how to talk, and croaks out, “Four.”
“Good. You’re awake and coherent, that’s gotta count for something—right?” Doc’s voice lilts up in worry on the last phrase, and Mumbo wonders: what exactly…happened? “You don’t know?” Oh. He’d said it aloud.
Doc’s face tightens. “To put it in short terms, you took the bolt I aimed above Grian. I was supercharged, already had been from the power I took earlier, and when that combined with you, that hit hard. Hard enough to knock you out of the air. Normally, it would’ve been fine, I like to think.” Oh. Then what— “When you fell down into the water, you took the full force of the power I’d discharged into it. Remember, I slammed my trident into the water earlier? That had kept the water sparking, electricity looking for an outlet. And, well. You happened to be there when you did.”
“Why aren’t I dead, Doc?” He thought he had been, maybe. He didn’t know.
“I think you responded that way to my powers because of the unique way our elements interact. I don’t know. Don’t care, really,” he said. His voice was tight with some emotion—anger? It seemed they’d either lost or reached some sort of draw, seeing as how Joe was currently over at his side.
“Listen, I’m really very sorry for what happened, it was a simple mistake. I’ll work in the future to avoid clashing like that, sorry—” Mumbo gets cut off by Joe standing up.
“You should be stable. Take care of yourself, Mumbo,” he says, giving him another look. “No deaths on my watch.” Joe walks over to G-Team, where Stress and Iskall are supporting a limping Grian, and starts to take the trek back to their base.
Mumbo looks to break the awkward silence settling between them. “Anyways, yeah, like I said, sorry about all that—”
Doc leans over and grabs him in an even more awkward hug, then lets go in an instant.
“I, uh, —”
“Listen. I wasn't mad because we didn’t win the battle or whatever. I was worried, understand?”
Mumbo sits in silence.
“A good leader looks out for their team. Remember that. And, for what it’s worth? I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Let’s go back to base. Recuperate before the next battle.”
[Xisuma, Joe, Evil Xisuma. With minor mentions of: Falsesymmetry, Docm77]
With a freak accident. Xisuma was forced to use his time power, but with such strong emotions, he overestimated the amount of time he was suppose to rewind.
--
It was a harsh day of rain.
It has been raining all day, Xisuma was just sitting in the main room. Once again, the creeper man has been out doing whatever. He could care less, he had more important matters to think about.
The 4th day ever since Doc had came into the office, all pissy and mad about something along the lines of Xisuma rejecting his request to rewind them and erase the hermit’s memories. He groaned, massaging his forehead. It was one of those rare days in which he had his helmet off. The moggy rain air was not very pleasant with a helmet on. Who knows how Biffa does it.
He leaned back in the large chair. It was his job to keep the server balanced, but look where it is now. A prank war that has gone too out of hand.
He thought about his “evil” counterpart. He has to be careful. He can’t end up like… That.
X sips the tea that has been sitting on the table. It has been long cold, there was a lot of things to worry about.
A knock came from the door.
Ah.
The healer is here.
The Brunet held the door open for the drenched man to run inside. Quietly closing the door behind to not wake up the wounded. He glances and observed Joe, who was picking at his shirt in disgust of the rain.
X spots multiple wounds, they were slightly bleeding. And god. There were so many scars. Are those wounds from lightning strikes? Maybe. He grimaced and chose to ignore it. Better not to think about it.
“A-alrighty, Xisuma! Who is Joe Hills healing today?” Joe turns around, speaking with a surprisingly loud voice, despite his conditions, snapping X out of his thoughts.
“False. She got in a bit of a raffle down a ravine while she was flying. Are you sure you can take it? You look… tired.” That was a lie. False had a few broken bones, a fractured rib, and probably something else as well. But he was concerned for Joe as well, as he saw the tired eyebags under the southern man’s eyes. He looked like he was going to collapse any second now.
“N-no! I-it’s fine. I’m-” Joe winced at something as he moved towards the bedroom, then proceed to pretend nothing happened. “Fine!” Before walking into the open room.
He was definitely not fine.
Xisuma sighed. And followed him in. He can only hope for the best. Nothing is going to stop Joe from healing his friends, not even his own health.
“Joe. It’s okay. If you can’t take it. Please don’t force yourself.” X said, with a tired voice.
Joe smiled weakly. And did not say anything as he began to ‘heal’ False.
Everything was going good.
Until.
False started to wake up, and Xisuma breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over at Joe. Who at this point, was barely able to stand up, resting on the chest next to False’s bed. The Brunet wanted to approach Joe, but as he took his first step. The other suddenly collapsed. A heavy thud hit the wooden floor of the room. Echoing back and forth.
X stared in terror.
Blood leaked out from somewhere.
“J-Joe? Y- this isn’t funny Joe! Don’t do that to me!” X yelled. Launching himself next to Joe, crouching down and shaking him lightly. There was no response, only very. Very faint breathing.
He cried. He clenched his teeth.
He is still here.
But if he doesn’t rewind fast enough. He’ll be gone.
Just like Ex said.
Death will not be reversible.
Xisuma focused, removing everything from his mind. Only rewinding. Rewind before the war. Before there was an opportunity this could ever happen. Before the friendly pranks.
Something broke.
………
……..
…….
……
…..
….
…
..
.
It was a harsh day of rain.
It has been raining all day, X̨̪̆̒͜͝ i̥̮̾͛ş͙͍̟̽͂̃͝n m̢͔̜̬̆̏̍͝ą̱͎͚̣̳̔̊̋̔̈́͒͞ was just sitting in the main room. Once again, the creeper man has been out doing whatever. He could care less, he had more important matters to think about...
A ̭̋.͈̕.̪̩̭̓̀̈́.͈̕.̪̩̭̓̀̈́..̓̀.̪̩̭̓̀̈́.͈̕.̓̀̈́.̡̡̼̦̹̖̋́́̃̅̃.͈̕.̪̩̓̀̈́ .̪̩̭̓̀̈́.͈̕.̓.͈̕.̪̓̀̈́
̭̋
̭̋.͈̕.̪̩̭̓̀̈́
It was a sunny day.
It has never rained.
There was never any tea.
There was never any large, ocean monument base.
There was never any war.
All the hermits were going on about their day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just friendly chatter and casual discussion of future and current projects, and what to do with that giant empty space out in the middle of the ocean.
However. Not everyone was happy.
Ex felt something was wrong.
Something was out of the ordinary.
Everyone has been calling him Xisuma.
He knows that it should be right. He is Xisuma. But it just felt. Wrong.
He let out the loudest sigh, that was a horrible nightmare.
“It wasn’t a nightmare. If that’s what ya were thinkin’.” A voice remarkably similar to his own said. As a mushroom soup that smelled like a potion of strength was placed next to him.
“Wh-how- what happened- How am I here? Why-”
Ex remained silent.
“It was the void that you end up in if you overuse your power.” He whispered. “I have been there. Multiple times. It messes with your sanity. Even with the few seconds, you go into it.” Ex started. “It was extremely unwise of you to do such drastic changes to the timeline... Ya were lucky I realized something was wrong.”
A fan made fanfic about what happened after “O V E R C L O C K” because i was so inspired!!! hope you guys don’t mind the fan submission :>
Characters: Xisuma, Doc, Mumbo and Joe
Word Count: 703
“Hey X. Do ya’ think you could use your powers to rewind time, without the other hermits remembering?”
Xisuma looked up from the desk he was sitting at. Doc’s desk, that X had been manning while Doc and Mumbo had gone out on their little expedition. He was usually left as second in command when Doc was out. “Just, like, hypothetically?” X prompted. “Yeah, hypothetically.”
Doc and Mumbo had returned, looking… Much worse, then when they had gone out. X didn’t know the details, but Doc refused to talk about it when they first got back, helping Mumbo into a spare room with a bed. But here Doc was now, asking some very not-hypothetical sounding questions about X’s powers.
“I mean, maybe. Don’t think I’ve tried, honestly. Why do you ask? I mean, seems a bit unfair to the rest of the hermits. Manipulative, you know.” Doc nodded in response. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that. But what if.. What if it was for their benefit?”
Xisuma’s mask made it a bit hard for him to express emotions using his face, but pretty much anybody could tell that he was frowning now. “I don’t think it’s right to tamper with things like memory and all that. Don’t know what could happen, what if I ended up erasing something important? Plus, I’m all tired out for a bit anyways. Been using my powers a lot since the war started. On your request.” Doc took a step back. “Who said this was about the war? It’s not about the war.” Xisuma narrowed his eyes. “Well, you saying that makes me very much think this is probably about the war.”
X wasn’t the only one frowning now. “Listen X, something bad happened today. And honestly? I think it would be best for everyone if we could just.. Do a reover. A redo.” Xisuma shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna tamper with things outside of my control Doc, things have been.. Off enough today as it is. Did you know today it took me 6 fireworks to take off? Six.”
“That could be anybody. Scar, probably. Or Joe. Heh, maybe even Mumbo. I mean, that’s not in his powers, but you know how he is with fireworks…” X stood up from the desk. “This isn’t a thing to joke about Doc, it felt like my entire relationship with the server was off. Like space itself was broken, tilted off tune a little bit. I’m not using my powers so that you can go back and win the battle for your little power trip, and that’s final.”
“This isn’t about me winning the battle!” Doc growled. Xisuma, hands on the table below him, raised a eyebrow. Doc scowled. “You and I both know I could win the battle by just looking at G team the wrong way. If this was about lives, we would’ve won by now.” “But it isn’t. This war was originally for fun, do you remember that, Doc? Remember the pranks?” Doc’s grip on his trident was incredibly firm. “Now get out of my office, Doc. That’s final.”
“This is my office.” Doc responded.
“Oh. It is.” Xisuma paused, then stood up “You are right about that. I’ll make my own way to the exit then.” Docm77 glared at X, one eye black and the other a bright, blood red, as the man in the helmet walked out of the room.
~~~
Mumbo was in the spare room, jacket off and bandages around his hands scarred. He was sitting on a grey bed, and he was just feeling.. Well, horrible! That wasn’t really a surprise, though, after what went on yesterday.
Joe would be coming soon. Doc had at first rejected the idea of Joe or any member of the G team entering the base (oh, what little he knew, as Mumbo stood right next to him!), but Joe had promised he wouldn’t go ‘spilling out secrets about your team’s architecture.’ So the man in the blue shirt should be coming here any second now.
Almost on cue, there were some familiar knocks at the door. Mumbo winced a little as he stood up, and walked (well, limped might be the better term) over to let his healer friend in. “Howdy Mumbo Jumbo!” Came the familiar voice as he opened the door, and Mumbo couldn’t be happier to see a friendly face.
“Why’d you say my full name?” Mumbo asked, smiling, as Joe walked in and started putting down his bags. “Oh, what? Hm, just a habit I suppose! Do it to everyone.” Mumbo made his way back to the bed, and sat down. “Alright, let’s see how you’re holding up.”
Joe unwrapped the bandages on Mumbo’s hands and arms, and winced a little. “Uh oh, well, that doesn’t sound good, does it?” Mumbo asked. “Nope, certainly not the most ideal outcome to this situation.” Joe laughed a little, though it sounded pained. “Here, gimme your hands.”
Mumbo placed his hands in Joe’s, and felt better almost immediately. He looked down at his arms, which had been covered in scars and burns just a few minutes earlier, and sighed in relief to see his redstone freckles poking out again. But when he looked over to Joe, his relief changed to something else.
“Um, are you uh, alright there buddy?” Mumbo asked. Joe looked like he had been struck by the trident himself, and on Joe’s on wrists and forearms, there looked to be more than just bruises and burns. Last time he had seen him Joe had been all in armor for the war, but now he had swapped out his chestplate for an elytra, and his entire upper body looked… in pain. His shirt was torn, his arms were covered in stitches, scratches, and burns and he was just all around looking… not great. What was he looking like on the parts of his body still covered by the armor?
Mumbo flinched, removing his hands from Joe’s. Joe looked up, surprised. Like he had just been woken from a trance. “Hm? Is something the matter, my freckled friend?” Had Joe not heard his question earlier? “You uh, just look… bad. Like, almost as bad as I do!! Heh, and that’s saying something…”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m the healer, what are you doin’ getting worried about me? Just a lot of battles recently, and a lot of team members to be using my healin’ powers on. That’s all, I swear.” Mumbo still felt.. Uncomfy about this. “No man, you look.. Bad. I don’t think you should ‘heal’ me for anymore. Not today, at least.”
Joe frowned. “Are.. are you sure? I can take it, you know that. I’ve healed much worse stuff before! I’ll be alright.” “No man, you should.. I think you should go back to your base.” Joe had a very sad look in his eyes, but he looked… understanding. “Alright Mumbo, if you’re gonna be insistin’.” He stood up, and Mumbo couldn’t help but notice how he winced a little. Just by.. Moving. What was it like to have a power that directly wanted to hurt you? Mumbo’s redstone could get him into jams occasionally, like causing tnt to blow up directly in his face, but it never seemed to directly hurt him. And at the end of the day when he got hurt, he could always call up Joe to heal him. He hadn’t thought about how it wasn’t as much healing but.. Transferring. Joe got all that pain. All the pain of G team, and now him too. Well, he was still on G team! Just.. not helping them. He remembered the look on Grian’s face when Doc’s lightning had struck him through the water.. Had Mumbo helped cause that? He shook the thought away, uncomfortable with himself.
Joe was at the door. He had picked up his bags, not like he had opened them during the visit. Mumbo wondered what was in them. Probably like, signs. “Joe, before you leave, I have a question.” Joe looked back at Mumbo, bag slung over his shoulder.
“What’s it like having a power that hurts you?”
Joe paused, thinking for a bit. “Well, I think it’s better than having a power that hurts others.” And with that he was off, humming himself a little song and using his powers to shut the door behind him. Leaving Mumbo alone again.
He fell back onto the gray bed. A buzz at his side alerted him of a notification, and he was quick to pull out the device. Joe was offline, not accepting messages now. Mumbo hoped he was doing good.. Getting rest, hopefully. What good is being able to help others, if you don’t help yourself?
Mumbo rolled over. He should get some sleep too.
~~~
MumboJumbo has gone to sleep. Sweet Dreams!
Doc looked out of one of the windows in the Team STAR base as the ‘night turned to day’, as some of his enemies would say. You know, sometimes he hated his element. It had pretty much no practical uses, besides the occasional redstone help. It just hurt him, and hurt others, and that’s even with the trident. Past seasons, past years? It was just horrible.
But he had learned to be strong despite it. No, strong because of it. Xisuma had said before he was very.. Ambitious.
Ambitious.
Something had felt off during his whole conversation with X, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Something had felt like X was… lying.
What reason would Xisuma have to lie to him?
Somewhere underground, (or perhaps, underwater), som͢eo̡n̛e had a nightmare.
Hey guys! Mod Seagrass here, posting a little bit of content to keep you guys tided over until our next update!
I’ve written a fic called Power Up! It’s about what happens if Doc and Mumbo’s powers interact, which should be a fun time ;D
(for context, Doc’s powers are electricity but only useful with some sort of channel, and Mumbo’s powers are redstone! Happy reading ^ ^)
Disclaimer: we all tend to portray the characters a little differently, and I wrote this late at night without much editing. Please excuse my bad writing!! haha
*these characters are not meant to be portrayals of the real people. this is a self-indulgent AU made purely for fun!*
