Guest 1337 stared up at the glowing LED sign. He sighed, hesitating in front of the door. This was a new personal low. Was he this desperate? In fact, he was. Ever since his wife and daughter had left him for a king with an ice castle, his life had been full of misery and despair. The loneliness he felt when he returned to an empty house was getting unbearable. This was his last resort. With a deep inhale, he pushed the glass-paned doors of the building open.
“Welcome to the Urbanshade Dating Agency, where we help you fish for a wish,” The receptionist barely glanced at him, too occupied with playing a game of sudoku on his computer. “My name is Sebastian Solace, I will be your matchmaker for today,” He had a dozen cigars lit, balancing them between his three arms and enormous maw. “What can I help you with?”
Guest 1337 grimaced in annoyance.
“What do you think I need help with?” He saw the oversized cod's tail slither as he clicked on his mouse, still yet to look up from his screen.
“Well, you obviously need help with that attitude of yours,” Sebastian grunted, before adding, “and with getting hoes,”
“I'm bi,”
“A bi on standby, I see,”
They went back and forth, until Sebastian whipped up to his full height and promptly smashed his setup with his clawed hands. “OH FUCK, YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME,” He bellowed, throwing the chunk of metal that was once a computer across the wall.
“Looks like someone lost a game,” Guest 1337 pointed out in the most remarkably aggravating sing-song voice.
“IT'S YOUR FAULT!” Sebastian growled, huffing like he had a roll of Marijuana in front of his slim, voldemort nostrils.
“That's it,” He pulled out another computer from under his desk, and began typing as if he was haunted by the ghost of Alexander Hamilton. “You're going on a date,” He pushed “enter”, and a receipt started printing out of the fish's jaw.
Sebastian smacked the piece of paper down onto Guest 1337’s face with such force he might as well have murdered the soldier with nature's greatest plastic surgery result. Guest 1337 plucked it out of his features to actually make out what was on it.
“Builder Bro's Pizza,” He read out loud. “I'm going on a date with a fast food chain?”
“GET OUT!”
Guest 1337 was forced out of the agency by a stampede of sea bunnies that had crawled into view from the walls and shadows. He could never look at those creatures again with the same kind of cuteness aggression most people– except maybe those who had been starving for a subsequent time, in which they would look at the underwater creatures with the intention of consuming them– would.
At least he had a date now.
Time flew by like the grenades he'd avoided in the war. It was Valentine's day evening, and he was standing in front of the pizzeria with a bouquet of roses in his hands. He awkwardly stood at the building's entrance, at a loss for what he should do. He should've thought this through before he was here. He didn't know if he should go inside to grab a slice, but that seemed inappropriate for a first date. Maybe he should get down on his knees and propose.
While Guest 1337 was busy weighing his options, he saw the sky darken and a shadow cast over him. He heard the growling of a beast. He whirled around, and was met face-to-face with a hairy, drooling monster. Guest 1337 was less than an inch away from punching the daylights out of their dog-breath face, when he saw a familiar-looking receipt stuck on one of their horns. Its lettered print matched that of his own.
He gasped, “You're my date!”
The monster did nothing else but eye Guest 1337, but he didn't mind. He whisked them off their paws and strolled into the pizzeria as if he owned the place. Guest 1337 plopped his date down on one of the booths just in time for an employee to come take their order.
“What can I get you two loverbirds this evening?” Elliot asked with a pleasant smile.
“I'll take a dozen mashed potatoes, and–” Guest 1337 turned to his date, who sat in their seat, as unmoving and unblinking as a lump of coal. “and they'll take a pepperoni, please,”
“Wonderful choice, sir,” Elliot chirped, as he disappeared into the kitchen with their orders.
“I hope you don't mind that I ordered for you,” Guest 1337 started, as he fixed his military vest. He'd been advised by his fellow soldiers in the army that in order to show a good first impression and earn his date's trust, he had to show them his exact profession through attire.
His date didn't answer again, as expected, and just goggled him with their wide, blazing-red eyes. “Um, I'm Guest 1337,” He continued, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. It's been so long since he'd tried to flirt with anybody or rizz them up. Maybe he was starting to lose his manliness and charm. “What's your name?” For the first time since they'd met, his date moved, pointing one of their claws to the pinned number on their chest.
“666,” Guest 1337 noted, and was able to put his last few brain cells together to come up with a conclusion. “Guest 666,” He guessed, checking the other's reaction. They nodded, their tail bobbing up and down with it.
Guest 1337 giggled like a highschool girl whose favorite fanfiction had just updated on ao3. Despite their unsettling appearance, Guest 666 was growing on him like a tumor he didn't want removed.
The night went on; Guest 1337 chattering while Guest 666 nodded, growled, or howled. It was the best date Guest 1337 had gone to in a long time.
“So what do you do in your free time?” Guest 1337 asked, twirling his radiant sapphire hair with his strong fingers which made him look like Shrek was trying to disguise himself as a teenage girl and failing in the most majestic way. Guest 666 gulped, instantly running their giant claws through their fur to detangle the half a dozen human ribs from it.
“Don't tell me,” Beads of sweat trickled from Guest 666's face, and this time it wasn't because of their heavy winter coat. “You're an accountant!” Guest 666 nodded like their life depended on it. Guest 1337 chuckled, and went on to say something about a person he once knew in the army who'd left to become an accountant.
However, Guest 666 couldn't get themselves to focus on Guest 1337's words. His laughter rang inside their head like church bells, numbing their senses until the only thing they could recognize was Guest 1337. His gaze to them was warm and soft, and it was the first time in a long while someone had regarded them with such fondness. A blissful feeling bubbled inside Guest 666's stomach when they were with Guest 1337. They didn't want it to end.
“You're a good listener, Sixer,” Guest 1337 laughed out, putting one hand over Guest 666's clawed ones. How long had it been that someone was genuinely interested in what they had to say? He'd been caught up in his own mind for quite some time now. Chatting with Guest 666 like this felt like he was being pulled out of that self-destroying cycle. Guest 1337 found himself falling for the other harder the longer he was with them.
“Is something wrong?” Guest 1337 asked when he saw his date's expression darken and their tail sway rapidly. They grunted something in reply, and Guest 1337 understood almost immediately.
“You're hungry,” He translated, just now noticing that their food had never arrived. “Excuse me, where are our orders?” He inquired, gripping a passing Elliot by his apron. The employee glared at him with contempt.
“You don't get your meals,”
“Why not?”
“Look around!” Elliot shouted, flailing his arms around as if he were one of those inflatable Halloween lawn decorations.
Guest 1337 looked over the restaurant in confusion.
“There's no one here,” He concluded, a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face.
“Because your fucking date ate them all!” Elliot pointed an accusing finger at Guest 666, ace attorney style. “It's rude to make assumptions on people based on looks,” Guest 1337 retorted, crossing his arms across his chest like a baby refusing to eat his vegetables.
“They're de-boning a customer right now!” Elliot screamed, and wouldn't you know it, Guest 666 was in the midst of pulling a clean skeleton out of their mouth.
“That's homophobic,”
“Get out,”
Then Elliot proceeded to throw the two Guests out like they were footballs.
“Why did you do that?!” Guest 1337 yelled, standing on the asphalt of the restaurant's parking lot. It was raining cats and dogs and perhaps the end of a relationship.
“Why do you have to ruin everything?” The heavy rain made Guest 1337’s bright-blue hair stick to his forehead as if it were leaking with grease.
“”We” could've been a thing,” He sobbed, his tears concealed by the cloud's piss– which most would prefer to call “rain”-- streaming down his face. “I'm done, Sixer,” Guest 1337 managed out in a broken cry, as he turned his back to his ex-partner. “Goodbye,”
Guest 666 waited there as the sky poured its insides down on them. They waited in silence as Guest 1337 left, waited as he walked out of their sight, and waited some more after that. They would stand in this very parking lot like a statue in an American museum without a magic tablet ‘till their boyfriend returned, even if it meant that they wouldn't get to cannibalize any more pizza place customers.
A few days passed since Guest 1337 broke up with Guest 666. And despite all his efforts, he couldn’t bring himself to forget them. They were like an unskippable ad or unclickable internet popup– he couldn't make the thoughts of them go away. Even through the hours of difficult military training, Guest 1337 couldn't erase the image of Guest 666 from their head. Their toothy, unnerving smile, how their fur felt on his hands, how their eyes would follow him everywhere like a spy camera, and the way their tail shook like that of a puppy when they were content– it made his heart ache to think that he'd never see them again.
This night was like no other, as Guest 1337 tried to water his feelings down with an extraordinary amount of booze, pitying his own loneliness. Except, he couldn't handle it any longer.
He wiped the alcohol stains on his disheveled uniform with his hand, a new kind of fierce and fiery light shining in his eyes. He was going to get his freaky monster partner back.
Guest 1337 found Guest 666 perched on the corner of the same parking lot he'd left them in. An overwhelming wave of guilt crashed onto the shores that were his heart and mind as he cautiously approached the other.
“Sixer?” Guest 1337 called out, standing a few feet away from the hunched over ball of black fur and red error codes. He didn't recall there being that many error messages and blotches of red on them.
Guest 666’s head cracked ninety degrees at once to face their beloved. Guest 1337 let out a gasp at the state of his partner; their hair and fur was messier than ever, and the playfulness in their eyes had dimmed. They looked like they were in pain, from how their entire body flinched ever so often.
“I'm sorry,” Guest 1337 said, his voice a meek whisper as he took a step closer. “Will you forgive me?” He was starting to tear up. What if they didn't want him anymore? What if they hated him now?
A warm, furry paw pulled Guest 1337 into a tight embrace. He let his guard fall, and broke down crying like those fanfiction addicts on tumblr when ao3 is down. Maybe it was okay to not be so brave all the time. Maybe sometimes men need to be hugged by a seven foot monster.
Their reunion was cut short, however, when they suddenly poofed out of existence in a puff of red smoke like a certain gummy crocodile in an infamous circus. Guest 1337 stood there, his mouth agape. He couldn't believe his eyes. What'd just happened? Did the universe despise their relationship? Was the universe homophobic?
A flyer stuck to an old oak caught his attention, not because of its disgusting choice of fonts, but more so due to the person featured in it. It was Guest 666. The inscriptions above their photo read as it follows, “WANTED: GUEST 666. RESPONSIBLE FOR ABUSING ILLEGAL EXPLOITS TO EVADE GUEST BAN,” The poster carried the official Roblox logo at its bottom.
Guest 1337 crumpled the paper in his fists, earning him several dreadful paper cuts, but this was no time to cry over such insignificant matters. Rage flowed in his veins like the immense amount of alcohol he'd drank. If Roblox wanted his partner gone, they would have to go through him first.
Guest 1337 stood before the entrance to Roblox HQ, the wanted poster still clutched in his iron grip. He knew who’d issued the ban. He knew who he had to conquer.
Getting to his target was as easy as eating pie, unless one was placed in a situation devoid of pies and had no parent approved method to acquire said culinary delight. He punched everyone and anyone who dared stand in his way as if he were a boxer in rhythm heaven. He even went so low as to smack a child with such force the child would later grow to possess questionable tastes in pleasure.
He kicked open the final door. There was now only one thing left that stood between him and his love.
“Hey, son, you can't come in here,” Builderman spoke out when he noticed Guest 1337’s existence.
“Say cheese, motherfucker,” Guest 1337 spat, as he pointed a bloody wizard's staff with suspiciously blue-and-gold pumpkin guts at Builderman.
“I'm lactose intolerant–” His words died in his throat like the last of this writer's brain cells writing this haunting piece of fiction. Where Builderman had been sitting mere seconds ago, a single grey gubby now occupied his place.
“That's for banning my partner,” Guest 1337 snarled, a triumphant look on his face. The gubby squeaked in protest when Guest 1337 picked up the banhammer, but it had no way to stop what was to happen next.
“Hey, Build-” Shedletsky started, casually crashing through the office's windows like the freak he was. Guest 1337 froze in his place. He hadn’t expected the swordmaster to arrive. If anything, he'd researched that Shedletsky was usually dining a twelve-course meal composed purely out of chickens at this hour.
“Wait, you're not Builderman,” Shedletsky scanned his eyes over the sight of Guest 1337 wielding the almighty banhammer, when his eyes laid on the Builderman gubby. “OOH FREE LUNCH!” He exclaimed, his attention now completely overtaken by the trembling creature. Much to Guest 1337’s horror, the chicken man scarfed down the poor gubby, fur, bones and all.
“Thanks dude, appreciate it,” Shedletsky commented after burping up a hardhat. He pat Gueset 1337 on the shoulder, before leaving out the door.
Guest 1337 decided not to dwell on what'd just happened. He swung the banhammer onto the floor, the force of it sending him flying to the wall. He really hoped this would work because he wasn't sure he could afford to go to the chiropractor if his back was gone.
“Sixer? Are you there?” He coughed, waving his arms to clear the smoke.
Guest 1337 heard a low growl. He rushed to the center of where the hammer had struck. There stood Guest 666, visibly dazed at the sudden shift in their environment. Guest 1337 hugged his partner, or at least as much of them as they could fit into his arms.
“I missed you so much, Sixer,” He whispered, just loud enough for Guest 666 to hear. Guest 666 brought their mutilated arms to gently hold Guest 1337 closer. They could feel his heartbeat thumping in sync to their own. They were together again, and now, nothing could tear them apart.
"If only we could go back-- then maybe, everything would've been different,"
WORD COUNT: 5,879
( FIRST(you are here!) / NEXT )
(additional notes & actual fic under the cut)
NOTE(PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING): This is a fanfiction based on the Roblox game Forsaken. I do not support the developers of said game or Roblox as a whole. This is a work of fiction that has nothing to do with real life. The characters used in this writing do not belong to me, instead, they belong to their original creators. This was not created using AI nor do I support AI “art”. There may be some triggering themes or mentions of such triggers(e.g. mentions of violence, graphic gore, etc), which I will tag on every post as a trigger warning, so please read through it if you are sensitive to such. Thank you for reading.
PART 1: AIM FOR THE SKIES
Every day, they lived for the thrill of the hunt. The wind caught beneath their loosely dreaded locks, the ground trembling with each step, pure power rippling through the air by their mere presence, and the sweet sounds of another successful kill.
At least, that's what they told themselves and their fellow killers.
Although they would never admit this, not even to their own conscious mind, they were growing tired of this repetitive game of cat and mouse. It had promised them freedom from this 3-dimensional body they were a prisoner of. Instead, they were placed here as just another form of entertainment like they were some other lower-dimensional being. It was beyond exhilarating at first, they did admit that. They’d missed hunting live game for some time. But as time went on, every round felt like the last as the excitement faded away. Not only that, their prey began to adapt and evolve to their surroundings, making the hunt nearly impossible to win.
This round was one of those bad ones. When they'd finished jabbing their sword into the blue-haired soldier, they knew it was time. The black box floating above their head displayed the time they had left– a minute and a half. One survivor was left, and he was standing just a few dozen studs in front of them.
His white t-shirt was dirtied with the red of his own blood, as he desperately tried to staunch it by pressing his forearm and hand to the wound. His other arm– his right, which the man usually carried his sword with, hung limp and useless on his side. His sword was nowhere to be seen. It was most likely that he'd lost it during a chase. By the looks of it, he was on cooldown anyways, so he wouldn't be able to use it even if he had the weapon with him.
Oh, it was a magnificent sight. They could admire this scene forever– them in power while he cowered at their sight. A grin curled at their lips. They were sure their victory was just around the corner.
They dialed their arm back, preparing their fatal attack. When they released the poison-green wave, accompanied by their sword, they never expected the other to dodge. So easily, too, as if their attack was a predictable arcade-game-villain-move. It was annoying, sure, but one missed blow wasn't the end of the world. He was low anyways– one slash, and he'd be a dead man.
They sprinted in his direction, sword ready to strike, and lunged at the last survivor. Then again. And a few times more after that. Time and time again, when they were sure they'd finally hit him, he managed to evade just in time. He was literally running circles around them, darting this way and that, narrowly avoiding each strike.
By now, their rage was on the brink of exploding. What was the point of it placing them in a role to hunt these people down if it made it unimaginably difficult? They huffed, taking a second to catch their breath. They were out of stamina, but so was he. They glanced at the timer; less than thirty seconds remained. This was going to be their last shot at winning. They couldn't afford to miss. That’s when they caught him smiling, just like he used to all those years ago. That was it.
They started bolted with all their might, too blind with fury to see what the other carried in his hand. They attempted one final thrust, but he had beat them to it. He gashed at them with his sword, hitting their back and sending them falling to the ground. They barely managed to catch themselves with one knee as they heard him scurrying away. They could do nothing else but feel their loss became more clear than ever. Their vision was blurry with tears from the pain, but flashed white with wrath. They grit their teeth, trying to stop the streams of tears that trickled down their face. They were the most feared being in all of Robloxia– they’re not supposed to cry like a baby. It wasn't in their nature to. Despite all this, they bellowed in agony– from both the blooming pain in their back that was slowly but surely spreading to every limb of their damned body and numbing their senses, and from the thought that they'd lost against him. Again.
Everything went black a few seconds later, and they knew the round was over. When they blinked, they were back at the killers’ camping ground. They felt around their back. Although the wound was gone as if it was never there in the first place, the pain didn't disappear as quickly.
“W3LL, W4SNT TH4T JU-U-UST UNF0RTUNA4T3?” They growled at the remark, snapping their head towards the direction of the voice.
The exploiter was floating next to the open fire, a smug smirk plastered on what was left of his face.
“YKN0W, M4YB3 Y0-0U SH0ULD JUST J-J-J01N TH3 SURV1V0RS,” They really weren't in the mood to stand another one of his taunts. “1 TH-TH1NK Y0ULL HAV3 4 B3T-T-T3R CH4NC3 4T W1NN1NG TH4T W-W4Y,” Their whole body shuddered as if a bucket of ice had been dunked over their head. They weren't cold. In fact, they were seething.
They glowered at the other, their eyes absolutely livid. Their clawed fingers traced the hilt of their Daemonshank, as their mind raced, planning their attack.
“4WWW- M4D?” He grinned from ear to ear, turning so that he was levitating upside-down. He was obviously enjoying their reaction, utterly clueless of what was to happen next.
“I will put an end to your pathetic excuse for a jest once and for all,” Their voice came out jagged and low, as they unsheathed their sword.
By now, the others had taken notice of the brewing tension between the two. Most didn't seem like they wanted to intervene. As a matter of fact, they seemed mildly entertained. Fights happened on a daily basis there, seeing as everyone was as sane as a permanent psych-ward patient, but they were mostly mock fights or playful ones, which made this level of hostility a rare sight to behold.
Too late did the exploiter realize his fate, as the other had pierced them through his chest before he got the chance to utter another word.
It could almost be described as the natural order; the weak end up dead and the stronger ones stand at the top of the food chain.
They pinned the exploiter down on the ground with their weight, a sword driven into his stomach to hold him in place. They ripped his half-faced mask off with one hand, as they cut his throat with the other. His broken screams of pure terror and suffering were like music to their ears. They slashed at what was left of the other's face and neck, until eventually, his screams died out into desperate rasps for air.
Once the exploiter’s vocal cords, along with the rest of their upper body organs, were damaged to an acceptable extent, they let out a satisfied hum, as they rose up from his feeble form.
“Let that serve as a lesson,” They growled, eyeing their neighbors with the same regard a rabid predator would to free game.
The others stepped back, making an opening like the parting of the red sea, as they marched out from the center of the crowd and to their tent in the far corner of the camping grounds. They drew back the rough tarp as they stepped into their gloomy living situation. It was a serious downgrade from what they had in the Banlands. At least they had an actual roof over their head back then. They sighed, placing their many swords near the thin mattress that served as their bed and tossing their cape somewhere far away.
They missed those days; when hackers and exploiters such as themselves were feared throughout the lands, wreaking havoc and neck-to-neck with the all-mighty Admins, when it felt as if their reign of terror would never cease.
Was that really what they missed?
The anguish, the blood, the chaos– were those what they truly longed for as they sat on the foot of their bed, reminiscing their past?
They punched the dirt floor in confusion. They were tired, that's all. It wasn't like they were feeling nostalgic for that period of their life. It couldn't be. They simply refused to.
They slumped onto the mattress, intending to lay there for a bit until their next round and let their body get some rest. They would never have expected to fall asleep before their head even hit the hard cushions.
In the blink of an eye, I was back at the cabin, surrounded by my fellow survivors.
“Hey, man, that was awesome!” The gambler slapped my back, sliding an arm over my shoulder.
“Easy, it still hurts, y'know?” I joked, though wincing from the after effects of the last round. It was a close win. I almost didn’t make it. The adrenaline still flowed in my veins, heightening my senses and making me jump at every sound and touch.
“I see yeh still go’ it in ya,” David commented, examining me up and down with his keen eyes. I grinned at his words. I learned not too long ago that having a friend you can always look to to keep the skeletons in your closet secured was better than any glory the world had to offer. “Ya did good, John,” It wasn't often that someone was congratulated by the rest of the team, especially in recent times.
I glanced around the room, and was unsurprised to find that the pizza place employee was still missing. The last couple of days, he'd been gone without a trace. I assumed he'd ventured too far off into the woods or an error in this realm's system had bugged his code. But someone had never been out of their post for this long as far as any of us could recall, and it wasn't in its nature to let these sorts of anomalies take place. Perhaps a much more foul work was at play.
My face must've darkened, as Matt stepped close, nodding in agreement to David.
“Good work you have done, to keep the monster spun,” On the outside, he was applauding my survival just like everyone else. However, I knew better than to take a wizard such as his words on a surface level. It wasn't an ordinary congratulations. It was a warning, to not let the mask slip.
“‘s nothin’,” I said, as I popped open a can of Bloxy. “They were an easy killer, anyways,” Behind all the jokes and pranks, the gnawing feeling ate at my insides. I didn't mean to hit you. I didn't mean to hurt you. Not again. Not after everything he'd– I'd done to you. I didn't mean it. I hope you know I didn't mean it. Then again, you hate me more than you hate yourself.
I still can't forget the first time I laid eyes on you.
He– I was experimenting with different respawn mechanisms for the pocket realms of Robloxia. I kept “dying” in an experience to test if I'd spawn in again without any errors. It was probably the thousandth time I'd done it, and a thousandth time it'd failed. Naturally, I didn't expect it to work this time, and I was more or less planning on calling it a day and going back to HQ.
You wouldn't know how every feather on my wings stood up in shock when one particular bug strolled into my life and changed it forever.
When I pressed the respawn button, and found myself teleported to the spawn point plate, I was so sure I'd succeeded after so many failed attempts. Then I saw you. By some twisted fate, instead of spawning me as whole, it'd split off a piece of me into a spare npc I'd placed nearby, making it respawn along with me.
That was the first time I saw you.
You had the bland, grey skin of the default npc and wore that ratty, old green sweater. Your wings were shades of ivory and silver, stretching out from your back.
Back then, I spent countless hours blaming 2x2, calling you a curse that held me down from unleashing my powers to their true extent. I hid you from everyone else, thinking that if no one knew of your existence, I could pretend like you didn't exist at all. When I saw you growing stronger by the day, I couldn't accept it. At that time, I treated you like you were a parasite that leeched off my life force. It tore at my ego to see you thrive with youth and strength– what was once mine. What I thought you'd stolen from me the day you were born. Truthfully, I envied you. I envied how you were allowed to roam about the realms freely, while I was forced to deal with complaints and fixing codes all day. I envied your freedom. That was the excuse I told myself when I stole your freedom. I thought I was doing the right thing. I used to consider you an error, after all.
But you're not. You weren't a mistake or an accident. You were a miracle. And you still are. I only hope that one day, I'll gain the courage to tell you this myself. But I'm nothing more than a coward playing god. A coward who is so afraid of being seen as weak that he would wet his hands with the blood of the innocent. A coward, so utterly scared of facing his past and paying for his sins that he'd go so far as to create an entirely new identity to cover up his tracks.
I could never forgive myself for what I'd done, but you had every right to do what you’d done that day.
They could hear the wind rustling as it tickled their eyelids in that pleasant, playful way. They didn't need to open them to feel the blazing sunlight brightening their vision.
Huh. This must be the rare occasion that they were asleep and dreaming. They weren't used to those sorts of sensations. A being like themselves hardly ever felt the need to sleep, and they almost never dreamt.
Yet here they were. Where were they, again?
They opened their eyes carefully, blocking out the sun with one hand. Numerous structures, built with bricks in shades of red, orange, and yellow that contrasted with the bright blue skyline that seemed to stretch on forever made for a breathtaking view. The clouds were below them, the wind's force blowing them away in puffs of white.
There was no doubt about it. They were at the Heights.
They would've destroyed this place minutes ago if it were up to them. They'd done it once and they could do it again. However, their body seemed to have other plans.
They let out a slight huff as they took off into the sky. They felt the air hoisting them upright, flowing underneath their wings as they flew. They'd forgotten how exciting it was to fly– the wind pushing back their hair, the thrill of testing themselves; flying farther and higher than they'd ever gone before, and exploring new places untouched by anyone else. It always felt new even after the hundredth time they'd done it, and they loved seeing the world pass by beneath them. Everything seemed so small and insignificant when they were up in the air. When they were flying, they were free.
Their flight was brief, as they soon found themselves landing on one of the higher points of the map. A hooded figure stood tall over multiple floating blocks of code, his many pairs of wings like living shields, covering most of his form. They would've immediately pounced on him, attacked him, or yelled at him– anything but what they were doing now.
“Dad, look, I polished your sword for you!” They tugged at the edge of his robe, carrying a default sword two times their height in their arms. They were smiling. They were dreaming about how he'd compliment their devotion to him and his work. Maybe he'd even smile at them back, and say he was proud of them.
“I told you not to call me that,” He snapped, still not taking his attention away from his system management screens. “And get out of my sight, can't you see I'm busy?” His voice was low and threatening, making them flinch involuntarily.
“But, da- Master Telamon–” They whined, clutching the well-polished sword in their arms.
A single talon similar to that of an eagle or owl impaled their woolen sweater, dragging them upwards.
“Must I repeat myself again?” His voice was barely a hushed whisper, but it was enough to scare a grown adult half to death, let alone a child.
His claw dug deep into their clothes, scratching the skin beneath it. They could feel their own blood staining the fabric.
They shook their head frantically, mentally cursing themselves. Why did they have to get on his nerves, when they knew his temper better than anyone else? They only hoped he'd have mercy today.
“Answer,” He shook them by the collar of their sweater, violently, and they were sure their heart nearly stopped there and then.
“N-no sir, I won't bother you again, sir,” They managed to blubber out, as the desperately tried to avoid eye contact. He glared at them from the shadow of his robes, his shocking ruby-red eyes examining them, wondering if he should punish them or leave them be.
Thankfully, he let them go, dropping them to fall a few meters, and went back to his work. They mumbled something about thanking him for his mercy and kindheartedness between gasps for breath, and quickly skittered away.
They tried their very best not to cry. At the end of the day, this was how he usually was to them. Their emotions betrayed them, however, when tears began forming at the edge of their eyes, soon falling as tiny, glistening droplets down their cheek. They swiftly dabbed at them with the sleeve of their sweater, but the more they tried to dry it, the more it formed. They let out a shuddering breath as they tried to calm themselves. They weren't allowed to cry. Or be angry. Or feel intense happiness. In fact, they weren't allowed to make any sort of noise that might bother him. They wanted to cry their eyeballs out until they were left completely dry. They wanted to scream until their lungs gave out and break something until they felt better. They didn't, though. Instead, they curled up in a ball against a smooth, terracotta pillar and wept in silence. They cried themselves to sleep that day, as with most days during that time.
The scene shifted, and they were walking besides him, sometime near sunset. The skies were shades of carnelian, shining warm rays of light across their face. It was getting chilly. They tried to warm themselves by blanketing their body with their wings. They didn't notice his deathly stare. They felt like jumping for joy when he commanded them to take a walk with him. It wasn't often they got to spend quality time together. It wasn't often that they felt like they actually had a parent that cared for them. The two of them tread the well-carved stone path of the Heights without a word. Though the child was just buzzing with excitement, he seemed to have other plans in mind.
“Stand here and turn around,” He declared, once they'd reached a clear opening. They obliged without much thought, turning their back to him. They stood there, outlooking the colorful sky, wondering what they could do tomorrow to please their father and be the child he'd be proud to call his own. As if that'll matter by the next moment.
A strong hand choked their neck, forcing them to the ground. The more they writhed under the restraint, the more his hand constrained them.
They could hear his heavy breathing behind them. Fresh streams of tears erupted from their eyes as they attempted to grab at something– anything that might free them from his clutches. They squirmed, swallowing back their cries. Their life may not be worth more than that of a bug, and there may not be anything more they could look for in it, but they didn't want to die. They wanted to live.
“Dad- Telamon, please–” They choked out, their fingers a bleeding mess from digging their nails into the hard stones of the ground. They kept clawing at any solid thing they could reach, while the being holding them down peered at their pathetic form. His eyes were filled with hatred and malice, and not a hint of remorse for what they were about to do.
The blood-curdling noise of flesh peeling off bone mixed with their macabre shrieking made for a gruesome sight. They heard it before they felt it. Each feather being ripped off, painfully slow, as if torture was part of this punishment, led by his tearing the limbs out from its socket. Their head rang like someone had chimed a bell inside their head, from both the unimaginable pain and their screaming through it all. It was a miracle they hadn't lost their consciousness yet. Perhaps that part was intentional as well, so they could feel everything before they eventually died.
When he was done, he threw what was once their wings into the void below, wiping the blood on his cloak. His hands were painted a beautiful red. It was no wonder such extraordinary pigment never quite washed away. He left them to bleed out on that platform.
The wind was cold and ruthless as it raged against their exposed skin and tissue. They didn't even have enough strength in them to cry anymore. This was how they were going to die– by the hands of their own creator. The world was spinning around their vision. Their blood loss made them shiver from head to toe. The dizziness and agony was unbearable now. If there were truly a god, they prayed that they may finally be at peace, free from chasing their creator's approval and love.
It's truly a shame that no such thing was there when their life faded away.
They never expected to wake again.
“You might not wanna stand up right now,” A rough voice called out from the darker corners of this dump of a room. “I just brought you back,” It belonged to a pale faced Robloxian with a strange, broken crown.
“From where?” They managed, their voice hoarse and filled with static like a defective voice box.
The man grinned, mischievous and malevolent, as he held up an Admin control panel, a manic look in his eyes.
“The dead, of course,”
They soon grew used to their new body. They couldn't tell if the changes were from being unnaturally resurrected, or from spending an ungodly amount of time in the Banlands. Or maybe it was their new addition to their outfit. Staring into their reflection in the mirror, they thought back to the day he gave it to them.
“You see, it's limited edition and worth a ton,” He said, as he plopped the green crown on their head like a trophy. “I thought it’d suit you,” He looked awfully proud of himself.
It'd been a few weeks since they'd woken up here. Through him, who had introduced himself as “Scripter”, former Admin and newfound ruler of the Banlands, they'd learnt that they were permanently stuck in the eternal prison for hackers, exploiters, and the other no-gooders of Robloxia. So much for being brought back to life.
“Do you like it?” He brought a cracked hand-mirror to their face, beaming with anticipation. He looked more like a child at a candy store than an ex-demigod.
They hadn't gotten the chance to examine themselves after they'd been reborn. They looked more or less the same as when they were alive before, if you didn't account for the jumbled array of binary and codes that seemed to follow them no matter what they did to get rid of them. Scripter called it a small side effect for being alive again, but he wasn't the one who couldn't see straight because of all the codes messing with their vision. They felt around their back on instinct. They weren't used to their shoulders feeling so light. It still ached where their wings used to be. They never grew back.
“It's… nice, I guess,” They really didn't know what to say. They'd never gotten surprise presents before. They didn’t know how to react or what they should feel.
“I'm glad you like it,” Scripter pushed one of their nicely breaded dread locks out of their face, tucking it in behind their ear. He'd done their hair, too. Though they hardly ever did so in the present day, they learned how to take care of their hair from him. Life with Scripter was full of first-times; It was the first time they'd received a gift, the first time someone had done their hair for them, and the first time they really felt like they had someone that cared for them as if they were his child, like they belonged here– for the first time in their life, they were loved.
Months passed like days, entire years gone in a flash. Under the ex-Admin's care, they thrived more than ever, honing their newly gifted powers and spreading their infamous name across the Banlands and beyond.
“I think you should get a new name,” Scripter noted one day, just as they prepared for their biggest stunt yet. A Robloxia-wide hacking, taking down the main forums and experiences, and while the Admins and Mods are busy dealing with that, they would strike them right there in their own nest. “I'm thinking…” He paused, a sly grin forming on his lips.
“1x1x1x1,”
“The fourth-dimensional being trapped in a 3D body, who vowed to take vengeance on every Admin responsible for their imprisonment,”
He was always known for being dramatic. They sighed, reaching for their glowing, green crown. Interestingly enough, the more they seemed to wear it, the more they didn’t want to take off. They considered it as nothing more than a simple attachment. It was a gift from a beloved friend and mentor, after all.
“I also have something for you,” Scripter drew a lumpy bundle from behind his back. It was wrapped tightly with cloth, and clanked like something metallic was inside. “Go on, open it,” They were staggered by its weight when he placed it in their arms. It felt like there were multiple of whatever item that was inside.
They took apart the bundle bit by bit, as delicately as they could, cautious of accidentally damaging the actual package.
“It's called the Daemonshank,” The dual swords were as black as obsidian, but lit up with green flames. It was calling to them; 1x1x1x1, the harbinger of Robloxia.
They couldn't stop the roar of laughter that escaped from their throat as they held their new weapons high in the air. Their mind flashed with visions of all the suffering and pain they'd cause– just the chaos of it alone was enough to send shivers down their spine.
“It's time we showed them who you really are,” He said, as he put a hand on their shoulder, the two of them standing before the full-body mirror.
In the reflection, the scared, broken child they once were was nowhere to be seen. In their place stood a being from the nightmares, their skin and bones as black as coal except for their translucent, acid-green torso, their white locks neatly braided into a tight ponytail. Their crown was nestled on top of their head, and when you lowered your gaze just a bit, you could see the jumbled lines of code that formed the shape of a star that covered one of their eyes.
When they grinned from ear to ear, showing their sharp, shark-like teeth, their reflection smiled at them back.
Escaping the Banlands and getting to Robloxia was the most difficult part in the entire plan. No one had ever managed to do it successfully. Until today, that is. Turns out, Scripter had made a deal with an hacker/exploiter who was yet to be banned to earn the key to the Banlands in exchange for more power. Why, he had no idea, but he said the hacker mentioned something about freeing his friends from a prison in Robloxia or whatnot.
With the key in hand, nothing could stop them from breaking out from this wretched prison. Scripter had rallied an army of the damned, some wrongfully banned and pledging to make the Admins pay for what they'd done, and some, hackers and actual threats to this world, who wanted more than anything to wreak havoc once more.
It was absolute chaos. Every experience on Robloxia was either severely hacked past the point of no return, or was on the road to be. All sorts of illegal exploits were damaging the server and its players, breaking the currency system and making every game unplayable. Millions of civilian deaths flooded the network before it got taken down. After some time, the Admins and Mods stepped in, but they were outnumbered and outmatched. In fact, a majority of the innocents’ deaths were their fault, as the process of doing all in their power to stop the rampant hackers led to innocents being caught in unnecessary crossfire or site-wide exterminations.
It was a loose-loose situation for them.
While the army and Robloxia's officials were busy battling, they began the next phase of their grand plan.
“Take care,” Scripter called out, just as the two of them were ready to split up. They felt a warm feeling bubble in their chest. You never quite get used to feeling loved.
People will remember Scripter and the one and only 1x1x1x1 as near-omniscient beings only in compliance to one another to achieve the common goal of defeating the Admins and causing destruction. But once you look past all the myths and legends, you'd realize that they were the only people they'd ever dare call family.
“You too,” The two parted ways. If only they knew what would happen next, they wouldn't have left with just those words.
They marched past the ashen remains of central Robloxia, their newfound weapon clenched tight in their hands. Its flames licked at their body, engulfing it in all its glory, fueling them with hatred.
The trip wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, and on the way to their destination, they did meet those who were brave or stupid enough to face them. It didn't matter. They were no match for them. None of them were.
“Stop right there!” A young Robloxian leapt in front of them and blocking their path, a dagger clutched in her hand. By the terrified look on her face and the clean state of the dagger, they guessed she was an amateur employee.
They eyed their blazing swords. They didn't wish to waste its first hit on a mere pawn.
“Move, and I'll–” They grabbed her by the hair with both their hands, and before she could protest any further, tore her lengthwise like a sheet of paper. Guts and blood spilled out from the divided flesh as they tossed the corpse aside.
Many more of her kind attempted to stop them. It goes without saying that none prevailed.
They entered the glass-paned doors of Roblox HQ, kicking a carcass out of the way. When they walked inside, the floor and walls were their canvas and human remains their paint. No one else was left to intervene.
They knew these halls better than most– what kind of repulsive secrets it hid, how many bodies were buried without a single name mentioned in any document, and the real reason the god forsaked their creations.
He was close. They could feel it in their bones. Their breathing quickened and they held their swords with more force. They turned right at a corner, and saw an office with a name they recognized all too well written on its doors.
“John “Telamon” Shedletsky,”
Hatred. It was more than they'd ever felt, and it was pulsing through them like a river of poison. It intoxicated their mind, filling it with painful memories they wished they could erase. And it was all his fault.
They knew that if they did this, there truly was no going back. They would never be able to break free from the cycle of death and vengeance.
They didn't care if it meant that they could make him pay.
They burst through the doors, and saw him. The almighty demigod, one of the first of his kind, and the very cause of all their suffering was gone, replaced with your everyday middle-aged man. No one could've guessed his true identity just by looking at him.
He looked surprised, standing in the middle of his office, holding a dusty, old sword with both his hands. He examined the intruder for a split second before realizing who they were. A name slipped out from his lips. His eyes were full of sadness and despair as he said it. Or was it remorse? He let go of the sword, making it hit the floor with a loud clatter. He approached his creation with open arms.
They darted to his back, quicker than the blink of an eye, and gripped his wings by their base, one of their Daemonshank in hand.
“It's 1x1x1x1,” They swung their sword, reenacting the other's greatest sin. They let him fall to the floor, tossing his severed wings in front of him for him to see.
He mumbled something incoherent he tainted his rug with his red, as they ran both of their swords into his back, taking revenge at last.
“I love you,”
1x1x1x1 woke to a start, their entire body drenched in cold sweat. Every one of their muscles ached as if they'd been thrown into a washing machine. They ran a hand through their hair, trying to calm their nerves, when they saw it. Their hand– it was grey. Their crown was missing as well. They ran to the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room and faced their reflection, not yet to notice the change in environment.
Gawking at them back was a grey-skinned Robloxian, maybe in their 20s or late teens. They wore a deep green sweater, a leather scabbard strapped behind their back. Their ivory dreads were tinted a slight green and held up in a loose bun. The mess of code that covered their form was gone, including the one that used to obscure their vision.
They must be dreaming. This couldn't be. Dumbfounded, they pinched their cheek. It stung. It was real. And it was quiet. The rogue voices in their head inciting their hatred were silenced. They were themselves again.
NOTE(PLS READ BEFORE CONTINUING!!): This is a Forsaken x Block Tales crossover fanfiction. The characters used in this work do not belong to me, but instead belong to their original creators. This was not created using AI and i do not support AI “art”. I have no connection to souldrivenlove nor do I support any of their(i'll use they/them here as the internet seems at a debate of their gender)claims or actions. There will be somewhat triggering themes or mentions of triggers(eg. self harm, gore, etc)which i will tag on every post as a trigger warning, so please read through it if you are sensitive to such. There will be no ships contained in this work, and is completely fictional(so expect some hcs). If you have any problems with the contents mentioned above, please feel free to leave; you are not forced to see my work and i am not forcing you to. Thank you for reading.
CHAPTER 3: NATURAL DISASTERS SURVIVAL
It was quiet. Too quiet. By now, something or someone should have been blown up, and that rascal should have come strolling in to save the day like they were some kind of hero. They were, in a way– it was just that Griefer refused to admit it.
Even after the Hero singlehandedly saved Tutropolis, his dad, and himself from his own actions, Griefer would never acknowledge it, not in a million years– or so he claimed.
Now, he paced around his room in this giant tree, his leafy tail wagging ever so slightly along. Admins above, did he hate his new plant features. They made everything more complicated than before; twitching and moving by themselves which led to dozens of shattered plates and mushed piles of fruit, and reacting to the smallest of triggers– once, the vines and plant life on his entire body decided to sprout flowers the moment he finally decided to touch grass and go outside. He would've ripped all of it out long ago if–
“They look nice on you,” The words echoed inside Griefer's head like a broken radio that refused to turn off.
Fuck.
Griefer punched the wall(tree) which did nothing to relieve his nerves and instead made his fist throb like crazy.
Griefer had to accept the fact that it was a dumb move, even for him. Punching shit wasn't going to get rid of the buzzing, nor was it going to change anything about his situation.
He walked back and forth across his littered-with-Witch's Brew-dirty room, increasing his speed as he got more and more frustrated– kicking empty cans out of his way(he planned on cleaning the place up, just not today). He needed to do SOMETHING, but he wasn’t sure what.
He thought to himself; “what would they do if they were here?”
The answer was simple.
Griefer abruptly skidded to a halt and rushed to his computer set up on the other side of the room. He pressed its buttons hastily, as if his life depended on the computer loading faster than the speed of his patience burning out. When it finally did, he spent hours looking at the monitor and smashing the keyboard while cursing a few times. Though he wasn't doing his usual gaming this time. He had far more important things to do, people to confront, but most of all; a plane to catch.
It was long past midnight when he was finally satisfied with his plan and turned the computer's power off. When the lights of the monitor died out, he saw his face through the reflection. His red eyes were drooping with bags and his leafy hair was stuck up at odd angles– If he didn't know it was him in that reflection, he would've kicked that guy out of the tree thinking he was a bum. Griefer tried putting it back in place, but of course, those damned spawns of nature wouldn't give a fuck about how he wanted to look nice from time to time.
Griefer sighed after wrestling with all the leaves and vines entangling his features; he would deal with them later. Right now, he had to pack his bags.
After rummaging through the pile of old junk he kept in the far corner of his place, he managed to excavate a worn-out travel duffle bag. Some of its seams were falling apart, and it still had bits of poison and leaf stuck on it, but it would have to do. Griefer noticed a name tag that hung from the ancient bag's straps. The name “THANIYEL” was written on it in a messy handwriting that wasn't his. He gripped the bag tighter in his gloved hands.
He managed to shove a couple cans of Witch's Brew, some spare pants, his trusty crowbar, and a bit of Tix he was able to get together in the bag before it looked like it was about to explode.
“TH4T $H0ULD D0 1T,” Once Griefer was satisfied with the depressing lump of what he considered a well-packed travel luggage, he cannon-balled into his bed with the enthusiasm of a salmon leaping to get over that one waterfall for dear life.
Looking up at the ceiling of his ‘secret’ hideout, Griefer wondered why he was risking his precious time for them. It wasn’t like he cared for the dude, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was happening right under his nose, either.
The last time Griefer saw them, they looked worse than usual– their blond hair lazily tied in a ponytail(not in the fashionable way, even in Griefer's low standards), all those… scars on their body marking them as the ‘Hero’ enslaved to the prophecy, and that look in their eyes; like they were silently begging anyone to look past their title and treat them as a real person rather than a puppet for any all-powerful beings that came strolling near.
It was when he was visiting Turitopolis after running low on rations he met them. They were there, right in front of Griefer, standing by the tea shop. They weren't dressed according to the jungle's climate, which suggested they weren't here to stay for long. Griefer wanted to make an attempt to talk to them; maybe thank them again for curing him, or inviting them over for a meal at his dad's, but his words stopped in his throat when he finally met them. It was then Griefer realized he and they lived in completely different worlds.
He lived a lazy life playing video games and keyboard battling his kind, secluded away in a jungle, and they roamed about the world to complete a great endeavor. The one thing– the most important thing they had in common? They were both scared as fuck through every moment of it.
Griefer wanted to say he sympathized with the hero, that he understood what they were going through. But then he doubted his feelings, that maybe he was just pretending to feel this way for attention(like before, but last time although it started out as a harmless ‘villain’ act, it ended up as very much real).
There could be a million other reasons why he hadn't talked to the hero that fateful day, but that was the most significant one Greifer could still recall, and the one thought that haunted him to this very night.
If he had walked over to that damned tea shop that day, started up an unexpected and unnecessary conversation, and provided them with some company, maybe this hollow feeling inside of him would be non-existent.
Ah, shit. He was being lost in his thoughts again.
Griefer tried his best to shake that feeling off by physically getting on all fours and shaking every bit of his body like a wet dog. His leafy greens fell to his dirty sheets(which was already littered with rotting leaves from before, mind you) and made the room smell like a fresh bowl of salad, enveloping the stench of his sodas and other bodily odors.
Falling asleep came easier to Griefer that day, knowing he could finally do SOMETHING to put an end to his senses constantly going haywire like an imminent threat was arising.
Griefer got up before the sun hit the skies with that carnelian hue. He didn't spare any time admiring the breathtaking view. Instead, he picked up his pack with the speed of an enthusiastic sloth and presumed to climb out of his tree.
He met one or two tree people on his way down. Though he tried his best to tell them he didn't have much time to attend to their chats, they didn't even pretend to listen, and seemed very much astounded at the fact that Griefer was leaving his crib for some time. They didn't let it go the entire way, and Griefer knew it was only going to be a matter of time before the whole jungle knew about his departure thanks to his chatty house(tree)-mates.
The walk to Turitopolis was brief, as Griefer knew the ins-and-outs of the entire jungle; he didn't need the stupid green sword with him to shorten the distance– his father had taught him everything he needed to know about surviving in the wild.
Slapping a rogue banana leaf away with a gloved hand, Griefer stepped into the crowded town; his home, Turitopolis. The place was still as lively as ever, merchants selling fresh produce and groups of people enjoying the great weather by the riverbank. However, something stirred under Griefer's skin. He pushed the uneasiness away– the whole bubonic plant-Griefer transition probably messed with his senses.
He tried to keep his head down, tugging his hat down in the hopes that it would conceal his face, when– “Hey! If it isn't the great Brad Thaniyel himself!”
Griefer wanted to run away. He wasn't going to risk getting into another pointless fight when he had a mission to accomplish. He knew this sort of encounter was inevitable, though, considering he was literally crossing the village.
He could feel the crowd's stares piercing him like needles to a pin-cushion– not enough to hurt, but just enough to make his entire body ache. Their whispers were haunting, almost, reminding him of the other voices that occupied most of his mind not so long ago. Everything was too much. Griefer felt like his lungs were filling with water– it was absolutely suffocating. He wanted to punch something or someone, run away, or worse.
“It's okay, Brad,”
His father's words broke through the wave of guilt and pain. It meant reassurance, a promise. After all those years trying, desperately, to follow in his dad's footsteps to become the next sword guardian– to be enough to carry his father's name– along with any attempts on chasing his approval washed away that day. Griefer knew he could never grow to be his father's successor. It wasn't his fault nor was it his dad's. That was the way things were, and Griefer made the choice of accepting that fate and moving on. He would work to live his life as himself and not anyone else.
“It's Griefer Thaniyel,” Griefer muttered through gritted teeth. He wasn't as good of a person as his dad, in fact, he was much worse in means of skill and personality, but he was willing to accept that. That didn't mean he was going to give those jerks the benefit of the doubt by being a complete pushover or an even bigger asshole. It was what his dad would've wanted.
Speaking of his dad, Griefer hoped he wouldn't be mad that he was leaving town without actually telling him. He did leave a note. Maybe. Maybe not. What the heck, he was already at the airport– there was no going back now.
Griefer handed his plane ticket to the flight attendant and boarded his plane soon after. He was glad she didn't call airport security to check on all the leaves and vines erupting from various parts of his body(although it was Griefer's first time on a plane, let alone leaving the Jungle, he was pretty sure carrying dangerous items onto a metal tube was strictly prohibited).
“So, Roadtown, huh,” Griefer wasn't expecting a conversation– maybe chatting with strangers was a part of the series of flight manners he wasn't aware of(for obvious reasons). “I hear the place's been below freezing for a while, not to mention the whole thing with the Blackrock Kingdom– not sure why people are visiting now,” The chatty man glanced at Griefer. “I mean, I'm going to record it all, but what ‘bout you?” True to his words, the man was holding what seemed to be a professional camera in its respective case.
“JU$T.. T0 F1ND 4 FR13ND,” Griefer grunted as he tried to relax his tense shoulders by leaning into his chair a bit more. A part of him already regretted his answer, demanding he clarify they were absolutely not a friend and just an accomplice or your everyday joe that just happened to have the legendary swords and basically saved his life. “Mmm, friendship,” The man continued, patting his camera as if it were his friend. “It's an important thing, y'know,” As odd as this whole interaction was, Griefer found the man's words comforting in a weird a-stranger-giving-you-meaningful-life advice way. “Your friend is lucky to have someone like you by your side, whoever they are,”
The two of them shut up after that, much to Griefer's preference. He thought of getting some shut-eye– after all, waking up at the crack of dawn after staying up for most of the night wasn't something that would help with the overwhelming tiredness.
Griefer soon found himself dozing off to dear old dreamland, surrounded by his favorite cola brand and basking in his newfound title as the ruler of the Rugged Rainforest. His fantasies were cut short, however, when he almost toppled off his seat as the plane landed with a little turbulence. When he awoke, still drowsy and yawning for so long that any physician would’ve been at a concern for his jawbones, he found himself alone in the metal tube. He decided it was best to leave– as far as he knew, aircrafts just might be shredded to metal scraps after a flight to provide materials for the next one, and he didn't plan on participating in that particular festival anytime soon.
With a groan, Griefer got up from his seat, and accidentally bumped his head in the ceiling while trying to stretch(which led to a number of swearing and cussing). He wasn't surprised to see that the man that was sitting next to him had already left without a trace, though he was disappointed to think he might never see the enlightening man again.
After Griefer finally disembarked the plane, he was hit with a breeze of cold air. He wished he had brought winter outfits, but his leather jacket would have to do for now. He was shivering all throughout security, while he asked for directions to the blackrock castle, and on the ride there. Griefer had no idea how these people weren't freezing in just a simple coat while he was freezing to death. He truly felt like a fish(plant) out of water– the cold was so intense to the guy that had the luxury of being born in a tropical climate, even the plants decorating his body were starting to freeze over.
Finally, after a long ride in a jeep with a man who seemed to have lost his neck while figuring out a way to stay warm and was far too jolly to Griefer's liking, a few hours hiking through the snowstorm, and being lost in who knows where so many times he was going to need more fingers to count them all, Griefer finally found himself facing a huge structure– the Blackrock castle.
He guessed it was once a mighty sight to behold; with its long, pointed towers that seemed to lead up to the heavens where the admins roamed, ice and black tar covering its surface like impenetrable armor, and the aura of something powerful roaming its halls. Most of it was gone now, though. The entire structure was hardly even recognizable with all the snow piled on top of it as if it were someone's sick idea of a snow-castle or tomb, and the entire place felt abandoned.
Griefer wondered what became of the residents of the castle and the Kingdom– the strange photographer and neckless man might've mentioned something about their ruler's absence and a temporary national sovereignty transfer to some kind of Mayor– Griefer couldn't recall exactly.
“TH1$ $H0ULD D0 1T,” He wasn't sure if they could even be at a place like this, but considering all of their mind-boggling journeys, an abandoned, frozen castle didn't seem like the most crazy choice. And besides, even if they weren't here, maybe, just maybe, this place could give Griefer a clue about where they were. At least, that's what Griefer hoped as he planted his knees in the snow(which he regretted instantly as the fluffy pile immediately melted into his jeans and made that uncomfortable wet feeling shock his entire body like lightning starting from his legs).
“H3R3 G03$ N0TH1NG,” Griefer sighed as he told his brain to focus all his energy and concentration into his plant parts. Since he was cured, Griefer had been training himself for these types of situations– not to play hero or bully others(his younger self would've been heavily disappointed, maybe even deeming his actions as cowardice), but to actually contribute to something bigger than himself– that is, if his assumptions were correct. If not, he would just stay as that mentally-ill kid, just with weird additional powers.
He mentally told his consciousness to shut the fuck up, and before he knew it, his right arm had been completely engulfed in bubonic plant and grown almost 3 or 4 times in size. Power courses through his veins, but it wasn't the kind that demanded bloodshed and vengeance. It felt more like a silent plea that he was wrong and this was only a “just in case” sort of plan to his overreacting.
Griefer gave a low grunt as he stepped back from his lovely cold pile of half-melted snow before taking a swing. Then another. And another. After slashing the snow like a particularly starved grizzly bear trying to prey on live fish, Griefer bit his bottom lip in frustration.
Was this even going to work? Who knew how many layers of snow that was covering this part of the castle?
Was he strong enough?
He pushed that thought away. It was useless contemplating his life choices right now. Every new thought that served no purpose here, Griefer sliced into bits by literally taking another go at the snow.
Eventually, an opening emerged from the pile. Griefer didn't know if he was ever this eager to go cave-diving(or breaking and entering, but could someone actually consider what he was doing now “breaking” if the whole place was already wrecked in the first place?).
For the first time in his life, Griefer willingly prayed to the admins that the wretched hell that was this cold, godforsaken place, would soon be over.
“UGH, 1 H4T3 TH1$,” Griefer muttered, as the chill that once resided mainly in his lower half spread to his entire body as he made his way into the snow pile and inside the castle. He must look pathetic, a more-or-less adult trying to squeeze himself into a teeny hole in the snow like he was four. He was more than glad that no one was there to witness his humiliation, and to have finally gotten out of swimming in snow.
“W04H,” If the outside of the castle was a lump of ice and dust, the insides of it seemed to be frozen in time. He didn't mean to, but Griefer found himself unable not to be utterly at awe. Hallways that seemed to stretch on forever, antique and fancy furniture that must have been taken care of dearly by its owner, and so much more.
The entire place felt like it'd come to life in just a few seconds. Everything seemed untouched, but not uncared for. Griefer could feel that the castle's residents valued their home and their ruler.
He eyed the single portrait hanging from a wall decorated in elaborate, carefully carved stained glass. That must've been the Kingdom's ruler. Most of it was torn off– like someone slashed it with a sword, and along with the splotches of black mold and icicles plaguing its surface, it was almost impossible to make out their face.
Griefer hoped this ruler, whoever it was, would forgive him for entering their house like this, and was some place better now.
Moving deeper into the breathtaking structure, Griefer found his way into what he presumed was once a throne room. This room was different from the rest of this place, and not just because it was the least well-kept room.
The stench of old, dried blood was almost unbearable. Griefer covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, but his efforts were in vain. Despite it obviously having been some time ago, the remains of a deadly battle had completely engulfed the blue-and-black color scheme of the castle. In an instant, Griefer knew this had to have been one major part of their journey.
He wanted to barf on the fancy blood-red(literally) carpet like a cat belching up cough balls without a care in the world, but was able to barely hold his Witch's Brew and three-day-old sandwich in his stomach.
He quickly examined the premises, wanting to find even the tiniest of clues but at the same time desperate to leave this wreck more than anything. Just as he was starting to feel dizzy with the lack of air he was getting, Griefer felt something catch on the soles of his shoe. He yelped, naturally assuming an ice zombie or a similar creep of the sort had risen up from its slumber and had chosen him as his next meal. Instead, he was met with a dirty, torn, red piece of fabric that clearly stood out from the rest of the scene.
He recognized it immediately. It was theirs. He picked up the cloth in an instant, mentally thanking whatever god or deity that might've helped with turning his luck around.
He took out a badly printed photo of them from one of the inner pockets of his jacket, just to make sure. There was no doubt that this was the same clothing from the picture. Or, a rather small part of it, in all fairness.
Griefer grinned in triumph. He was one step closer to solving this topsy-turvy mystery. Some might call him crazy for thinking the well-deserved peace of Robloxia dangerous, but he, as well as many others in greater power, knew it was just a matter of time before something bad happened. Something far worse than anything this realm had faced before. This entire situation was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, and he was going to find the key to help defuse it.
If only he had gotten to know the key better, his wild goose chase would've been a lot faster and easier than what Griefer knew he was going to get into.
Griefer gently put the photo and red fabric into his pocket for safekeeping(next to crumpled bills of Tix from who knows where, honestly).
He began climbing out of the throne room when he found the cracked stained glass looming ominously not so far away(he was very glad to not have to walk all the way from where he'd dug his little ice tunnel).
As he made his way back to the airport from where he first arrived in the Kingdom, he crossed off the mental chart of places where they had been. The Blackrock Kingdom and Roadtown were done.
His next destination, following in their footsteps, would be Telamon's Manor in Spooksville.
The whole time during his over-extened trip to Spooksville(as he had a lay-off at Bizville for a few hours, “issues with the engine,” they said, and also because he had absolutely no idea how to board a subway), Griefer thought about what Mayor Monty had said to him when he had to go through Roadtown on his way to the Blackrock Kingdom.
He'd known the old man all his life– his father being good friends with the Mayor played the biggest part in it. Although he couldn't recall seeing the guy after the age of 5 or 6(around the time his father had been appointed as a Sword Guardian), he vaguely remembered enjoying hearing the Mayor's old stories of how his wife and he had terrorized some Captain, and how he had met Griefer's father and so on.
Despite looking much older than before(like a whole century had passed rather than ten-something years), Mayor Monty seemed more than excited to see Griefer when he walked into the town hall.
“My! Is that Brad?” His voice was raspy like he had a vacuum cleaner for a throat, as the man looked up from the paperwork laid out on the long table before him. His glasses were so thick Griefer wondered if the man's ears would fall off from it being too heavy.
“Come a little closer so that I can see you better, boy,” Griefer did as he was told, and despite the unamused face he put out, he was just as happy to see his favorite uncle again after all these years.
“Thaniyel told me all about what happened,” Monty set his monster truck equivalent of glasses onto his mountain of files as he faced Griefer. The old man's fierce eyes bore into Griefer's own. Griefer thought about how intimidating he would've been if he was 30 or so years younger. Griefer felt as if Monty was searching for something inside his acid-green eyes, nonetheless, as this weird staring contest went on for a little longer.
“Glad to see you're feeling better,” The older man exclaimed, tearing his gaze away from Griefer. Whether he found the thing he was looking for by telepathically traversing his eyes, Griefer had no idea, but whatever was going on in that guy's noogin, it seemed to have satisfied him enough. “What brings you to town, child?”
Griefer told the man about everything; from his father leaving home without any contact to his search for the Hero that had seemingly gone missing after recent events. He was glad to have all that pressure weighing on his shoulders lightened, even if it was just ever so slightly. It was nice to have someone to confide in, after countless hours of talking to himself over the whole matter.
Monty listened intently, a newfound glimmer of light dawning in the man's saggy, old eyes.
When Griefer was finished, Monty leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard(which was worthy of being crowned the Rapunzel of all beards).
“I see,” Monty paused for a second, stroking his beard some more. “You are on a great quest, lad, and you come for my guidance,” Griefer nodded quickly, and so the other kept on.
“Though I do not know of your father's whereabouts, I sense it is with deep connection to the Swords and the Hero,” Monty hummed, glancing at Griefer once more. “I suggest you go through your quest, and get to the bottom of this strangeness,”
“But I must warn you, Brad,” The sudden shift in his tone made Griefer flinch. “You mustn't venture too far. There are truths that are best kept secret– do you understand?” The air felt heavy in Griefer's lungs. He'd never seen Monty so serious before. It made Griefer slowly come to the realization that this stunt of his was bigger than what he had initially expected. Like, way bigger. Bigger than him, bigger than Robloxia, possibly bigger than the admins and mods.
“1 UND3RST4ND,” Griefer answered, clenching his fists so tight that the leather from his gloves burned his skin.
Monty didn't say anything else, just patiently waited for Griefer to leave the old man be, saying he had matters of his own to attend to, and that he was very sorry that he couldn't be of any more help(“Ah, as much as I'd like to help, the adventuring days are far too behind me… And besides, Jim wouldn't let me off the hook– he's got me hooked on all this accounting stuff, which I honestly don't understand a word of–”).
Time seemed to have flown by, as while he was busy retracing his encounters and devising the next part of his plan, Griefer had arrived in Spooksville.
The place was chilly, but not as much as Roadtown or the Blackrock Kingdom(which Griefer was very grateful for). The walk to the Manor was interesting to say the least(insert Griefer being chased by zombies, skeletons, ghouls, and vampires every corner and talking pumpkins jumpscaring him).
Although everything about the town screamed year-round Halloween, lively crowds of both children and adults in costumes and trick-or-treating was nowhere to be found. It made the location feel a lot more sinister and uncanny than family-friendly spooky.
“I deeply apologize, sir,” When Griefer finally managed to get to Telamon's Manor without shitting his pants, a gentleman in a black suit greeted him at the front gates. “I'm afraid Master Telamon will not be having any guests for the time being,” Griefer was absolutely devastated to hear the news. The butler's words meant all of his encounters with the undead were for nothing, when he was sure it decreased his lifespan by fifteen years at the minimum. “I apologize once more for your inconvenience, and we at the Manor hope to see you once more in the future,” The butler gave Griefer a deep bow, which made him feel guilty. He couldn't really blame the guy; he was an employee of the admin after all, and based on him being alone out here saying sorry to everyone passing by, he definitely wasn't being paid enough for this.
“C0ULD 1 4T L4A$T 4$K WHY?” Griefer didn't want to overstep on private boundaries, but the fact that the Manor of one of the greatest and most powerful admin just happened to be closed right now, when the Hero had gone missing, seemed to be an unlikely coincidence.
“The Master is out of town,” The butler answered, after a brief silence as if considering his options. “And he wishes that no visitor enters his Manor whilst he is not present,”
Griefer thanked the man and made his way back to the subway station, and only later on the metro did he realize that not one entity had tried to scare the crap out of him or challenge him in a fight. Although this trip wasn't as fruitful as his last journey, it did give him more clarity of this situation– that he wasn't insane to think that something was very, very off, and that it, whatever it may be, is connected to the admins as well.
Griefer just hoped he could get to the bottom of it all in time.
Following yet another disastrous train ride(which may or may not have involved Griefer almost being kicked out of the train due to the pollen from his plant features triggering a severe allergic reaction from a nearby passenger), Griefer was back in Bizville. By that time, the sun had already fallen far below the horizon, leaving only the subtle glow of the moon and stars to guide his travels.
For a few moments, Griefer seriously contemplated sleeping out in the open. He wasn’t sure if he had enough cash to grab a hotel room(if there happened to be any vacant this late through the night), let alone if the staff there would let him stay(he really didn't want to go to prison for murdering a person via allergies).
On the other hand, the streets were cold and hardly lit. Not to mention Griefer swore he saw some rando in a dark alleyway by a trash can ranting on about some kind of nonsense. This would be the most ideal setting for an unsolved crime podcast, and Griefer would prefer it if he wasn't the subject on their next episode.
Eventually, his inner conscious got the best of him. Griefer soon found himself pushing open the doors to the nearest hotel.
Inside the lobby, Griefer was surprised to see two individuals still up and awake by the counter. One of them looked like your average hotel attendant, and the other more like an adventurer, similar to Griefer himself.
As Griefer made his way towards the front desk, the hotelier immediately turned to face him as if on instinct.
“Hello, sir! What can we do for you?” Thankfully, they didn't seem to mind Griefer's unwilling companions of pet plants.
“UHH.. 1 W4S W0ND3R1NG 1F Y0U H4D 4NY R00MS L3FT,” Griefer glanced at the other person. She had middle-length hair the color of cacao beans and wore a purple sweater and beanie.
“I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid the last room was just taken,” The hotelier nervously shifted their gaze from Griefer to the stranger. It was evident that it was she who had bought the last room in the hotel. Griefer couldn't complain– it was past midnight in a fairly populated city. Even he knew that meant getting a place to crash would be nearly impossible.
He thought about the dog park he had passed by earlier during the day. Maybe they won't mind him resting there for a few hours, just until dawn when he would be on the move once more.
“No worries, I can share,” The girl spoke up, drawing both the attention of the hotelier and Griefer to her.
“Are you sure, Miss?” The hotelier asked, cautious, as they looked back and forth from Griefer to the girl, wide-eyed. It seemed that this sort of generosity was uncommon here as well(otherwise Griefer would've guessed that such acts of kindness was to be expected of everyone)
“111 P4Y Y0U B4CK,” Griefer started abruptly, rummaging through his pockets for some Tix or Robux. He swore he had a bit left– but money was going to be tight considering he still had to pay for the ferry ride after paying for his share of the room.
“Nah, it's fine. I really don't mind,” The girl shrugged, as she spun her keys with her index finger.
“Well, if it's alright for the both of you, I believe we can allow it,” The hotelier exclaimed as they jot something down on the notepad that lay on their workspace. “We here at Bizville Hotel wish you a pleasant evening,” With one final customer service smile, the hotelier ushered Griefer and the stranger to their shared room.
“Y0U.. D1DNT N33D T0 D0 TH4T,” Once they were both inside the spacy double bed suite(the stranger possessed the keys), Griefer turned his attention back to the girl. Although he was eternally grateful for her actions, Griefer wondered if her intentions were pure as well. If his years of hanging out with no-good teenagers had done him any good, it gave him a thorough lesson on not to trust strangers so easily and to always second-doubt random acts of kindness.
The girl rolled her eyes in response.
“Yeah, and you could be homeless for the night,” His own true intentions must've slipped out though, as the girl eyed Griefer with the same untrusting look a teacher might give to their student if they were to suspect the student had cheated on their test.
Anyways, she didn't speak of the matter, but instead gave Griefer her hand. “I'm Kyoko, and you are?” Kyoko’s actions caught Griefer off guard. Maybe he was being paranoid– maybe this wild goose chase he wanted to call his own quest was getting to his head(he wondered how they'd put up with it for so long, when just after a day, Griefer was ready to call it quits). It wasn't like he had objective reasons to always be cautious of nice people, too.
Griefer hesitated for a moment before properly introducing himself.
“BR4D. BR4D TH4N1YEL,” Kyoko grinned as Griefer took her hand, giving her a nice handshake.
“So, what brings you to these parts, Brad?” Kyoko was extremely friendly, like the type of kid to be friends with everyone at school, and despite only having met her for the past few minutes, Griefer caught himself enjoying her company right away.
They talked about their life and such all throughout the night; Kyoko told Griefer about her long lost sister and how she wanted to be an adventurer like her sibling to carry on her legacy, and Griefer told Kyoko about his hometown and his quest. Griefer couldn't remember the last time he was able to talk about these things with another Robloxian(sure, the tree people were nice, but they weren't exactly the type of beings one would visit to chat about your feelings when all they did was gossip on the hottest news in the jungle or blurt out random sentences). For the first time in ages, Griefer felt like he had a friend he could relate to, someone who understood him.
“That's really cool,” Kyoko exclaimed, after Griefer was done explaining to her his assumptions regarding the current situation of Robloxia and how he planned on stopping whatever it was before it made its move.
Their conversation had stretched on for so long, Griefer was shocked to see they had technically talked for a day according to the wall clock that pointed its hands to 3 am. It was getting late(or was it getting early?), and Griefer was ready to head to bed when he saw the serious look on Kyoko's face. She furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought, before resuming her sentence. “Why are you on your quest though? I understand you're worried about Robloxia, but people don't usually jump into action when they don’t know for sure if their life could be in possible danger or not,”
“And why do you care so much about the Hero?” Those questions were ones Griefer had been desperately trying to avoid by any means necessary throughout the entire time he had decided on taking this journey, from its planning stages to actually being on the road. In all honesty, he didn't know either why he was so obsessed with getting to the bottom of a mystery that might not even end up being one. Sure, he could say he had a hero complex because of his father’s old duty as a Sword Guardian, or say it was because he was one of the lives the Hero had once saved. Any answer would fit, but none could fully express what he felt inside.
After a few minutes of careful thought, Griefer replied.
“1 D0NT KN0W. 1 JU$T TRU$T1NG MY GUT,” It was a stupid answer Griefer wished he could take back. It didn't answer Kyoko's question, not really. “TH3 H3R0…” Griefer continued, gently touching the small bush of leaves that grew on the side of his face. “$0M3T1M3$, TH3Y M1GHT N33D $4V1NG T00,” Kyoko nodded slowly. It didn't seem like she didn't understand what Griefer meant or doubted his argument. It almost felt as if she was digesting his words, bit by bit. Why, Griefer couldn't tell.
All he could do was guess that she had something to do with the Hero as well.
Griefer didn't push her into spilling her secrets. He knew more than anyone that forcing someone to meet your needs or expectations was so wrong in so many ways he couldn't possibly name them all. If she wanted to talk about it with him, she would do so, in her own time, by her own means.
They didn't speak much after that. Griefer didn't really mind– chatting with Kyoko and having made a new friend was something he wasn't quite expecting to cross off on his bucket list today, and he valued her presence very much. But dawn was approaching, and they both had places to be the following day. And so, naturally, they bid their goodnights and climbed into their beds. Griefer swore he fell asleep even before his head crashed onto his pillow GTA style.
Despite not dreaming often, Griefer found himself in a wildly vivid one that night(though by then he wasn't too sure if he was dreaming or straight up hallucinating).
He saw a group of strange people huddled inside what he presumed was a camping cabin. He couldn't make out their details, but they didn't seem to be getting along too well. Griefer heard shouting and swearing, possibly a few of the bunch breaking out into fights, but he couldn't make out the details.
Then, the scene shifted. He saw glimpses of them, but every time he looked away or blinked, the background changed. Once, they were in a forest unlike any Griefer had seen before, something that wasn't natural to Robloxia. Next, they were in every place they both had been to; first it was Roadtown and the Blackrock Castle, then it was Turitopolis and the Rugged Rainforest, and then they were in the middle of a desert. Griefer assumed that this was the Scorched Ruins he planned on visiting tomorrow(or today, considering it was nearly daybreak).
Griefer glanced at them. Unlike last time with the strangers at the cabin, Griefer could actually make out their face, and what plagued them was something he would've never expected of someone of their title.
The Hero’s face was filled with sorrow and guilt– even Griefer could see that from a mile away. They locked glances with Griefer, and for a second there, he thought that they could really see him. That they were there together. He knew it was impossble– this was all a fever dream from being so tired and overworked, but the way the Hero looked at him made Griefer question his logic. They said something, but to Griefer, it sounded like the Hero was at the bottom of a lake, their words utterly incomprehensible. Griefer tried reading their lips, but everything got too jumbled up with irregular noises appearing in their voice and red code enveloping their figure, it was impossible to tell. Griefer tried to shout, to say something– anything, but he was deeply disappointed to find he couldn't make a sound.
Then suddenly, his vision started getting glitchy and Griefer knew he was running out of time. He was waking up. With the last bit of strength he could muster, Griefer yelled at the top of his lungs. He wasn't sure if his words had reached them, heck, he didn't even know if this was even a legitimate connection between the two(in the form of a dream), but he was willing to trust it and give it a try if it meant it could lead him one step closer to finding the Hero.
Before Griefer woke up, he heard them respond to his question. Their words were still muffled, but Griefer could make some of it out now.
“Come find me,”
The morning sun shone bright on Griefer's face as if urging him to get up and finish what he'd started. Though he usually wasn't one to agree with the cosmos or the universe, he couldn't say no if he believed in it too.
He said his goodbyes to Kyoko and the hotelier, and made haste.
It wasn't to catch a plain ride to the Scorched Dunes as he had originally intended. His dream from last night must’ve meant something– although he didn't know what exactly as of now, he was sure some divine being gave him those visions to aid his quest. In fact, Griefer had never been so sure in his life as he was now, storming through Bizville to reach his destination. And this time, it was going to be the last. He was going to make sure of that.
It took some time, but at last, Griefer was met with the doors that belonged to a modern-looking building located at the far corner of the city. The plaque nailed next to it read as the following; “ROBLOX HQ”.
It didn't take long for him to be face to face with the person who had the answer Griefer had been searching for the entirety of his journey.
“Heya, pal!” The stout chicken man chirped when he saw Griefer enter the basement. John Shedletsky, one of the head admins of Roblox and the greatest sword fighter in all of Robloxia and the Heights. Legend says that he appeared out of nowhere, just after the infamous hacker 1x1x1x1 appeared and the godly figure Telamon retired from his position as a higher stationed admin.
“What can I do for ya, kid?”
Now, everything clicked into place.
“WH3R3$ PL4Y3R,” Griefer spoke in a low hum, trying to seem nonchalant as to be careful not to let him catch on and being seen as a potential threat(which could earn him a free highway ticket to the Banlands) but not wanting to look like he was easy to fool. Like he could trick him as he did to every citizen of Robloxia.
“Out collecting the swords, I suppose,” Shedletsky answered in a sing-song voice as he shrugged. Of course, the admin wouldn't have known, even in his wildest fantasies, that a normal Robloxian like Griefer would uncover his tricks before anyone else did. “Haven't heard from them in a while, though. Want me to leave a message?” His hypocrisy was making Griefer sick.
Just as he was about to retort back something a bit more intimidating, every light in the building died.
“H3Y, WH4T–” Before he had the chance to finish, Griefer was knocked back by a gust of wind, hitting the concrete walls of HQ with a thud. If it weren't for the bubonic plant vines that sprung from his back to catch his fall, his spine would've been cracked to smithereens from the impact.
Griefer turned his head wildly to find the source of the force, when he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and brought forth the bring, making it a whole lot easier for him.
Griefer struggled to break free from his grasp, but his efforts were in vain as his entire body was lifted up a good few feet from the ground.
“Did you truly believe I could not sense your malice from afar?” Griefer froze at the unfamiliar voice, and knew just then that his worst fears had become reality.
Staring down at him was the one and only Telamon.
Although the robes of his hood concealed most of his face, the god's twisted grin was nonetheless evident. Griefer had, by his own will, walked right into his trap.
“I must admit, your bravery is quite astonishing,” The god only seemed to grow bigger by the minute which Griefer thought to be impossible since this basement could only be so big. And from the corner of his eyes, Griefer was sure he saw the HQ basement was melting into the cliffs and red brick structures that belonged to the Heights. It was like reality itself was distorting itself in preparation to greet the ancient deity. Griefer wished they’d have their joyful reunion later, because he was pretty sure Robloxians like him weren't supposed to witness this sort of stuff in person.
“It is also, however, idiotic,” He chuckled, examining Griefer as if he was the god's newest plaything. Just a toy for all-powerful beings like him to mess with and throw away once he got tired of them.
By now, Griefer's head was killing him. His brain wasn't able to filter in this new atomic bomb-worth of information that was Telamon. Every word the god uttered pierced his skull like a particularly painful lobotomy, and every forced eye contact made his entire nervous system feel like it was on fire. Although this was expected during a godly visit, Griefer wasn't intent on dying by the means of some god, and even if he did, he refused to do so before he got a straight answer out of him.
“Ah, I see. My divine presence is agonizing your mortal being,” He spoke like what was going on with Griefer was merely the subject of a mildly interesting nature documentary. Griefer wanted to shoot back with something that might trigger the god, but no words came out as he felt his body give up. He was sure his death was imminent. He thought about how his father would react to his death, or if he would be informed about it at all.
He wasn’t expecting his legs to regain feelings as he was placed onto the floor like a figurine. It wasn't just his legs either; his head didn't feel like it was being split open with an axe, and he could move his body again.
Griefer turned to stare at the godly figure in absolute confusion, when he noticed the admin had shrunk tenfold. Telamon smirked, obviously enjoying the other's perplexed expression.
Griefer didn't need to be a rocket scientist to put together what just happened. For some reason, this sociopathic god had reduced the pure energy seeping out from his godly figure so that Griefer could live a little longer.
“WH3R3.. WH3R3 1$ PL4Y3R? WH4T D1D Y0U D0 T0 TH3M?” Griefer spat out as soon as his cognitive function had recovered. Although he didn't know for sure if Player's disappearance was directly Telamon or Shedletsky's fault, the fact that it was related to the admin(s) was as clear as day.
At first, Telamon didn't answer, merely staring down at the rude mortal– perhaps contemplating his decision of not melting his brain to mush.
“I do not know,” After a long silence, the god whispered those words as if it were some sort of prayer. Griefer was so sure the admin was lying, that this was just another cogwheel to a greater plan– then he saw Telamon's face. For a brief moment when he turned his head slightly, Telamon's hood revealed a fraction of his eyes and mouth. Just enough for Griefer to make out his expression. It wasn't the sick smile only an omnipotent being such as him could have plastered on his face almost always. It looked more like doubt or remorse. Griefer wanted to question it when the god let out a low chuckle, washing away even the last hints of his previous expression.
“They serve no purpose to me now. Why should I bother with a search?” Telamon's words made Griefer's blood run colder than when he was visiting the Blackrock Castle. And to think for a moment Griefer took pity on the god, maybe even resonated with him, when he probably never even cared for ordinary Robloxians. Not him, and not even Player, who had carried out all of the admin's orders. And now that they were for sure missing while on their mission and couldn't collect his damned swords for him, the deity was chucking them out the roof like useless garbage. To Telamon, he was just throwing out his latest plaything.
“You may not know, but they were not the first to carry out my quest,” Telamon mused, flexing his golden-brown wings. “There were many more before them,” The new information made shivers run down Griefer's back. Player wasn't one singular toy to the god, they were one of the many who were chosen yet discarded once their quest turned out unsuccessful. “Although no one has been as fortunate as them in their recovery of my Swords,” So this was it. Player was just a slightly interesting toy from a whole bucket-load of them.
“H0W C4N Y0U S4Y TH4T WH3N TH3YV3 S4CR1F1C3D 3V3RYTH1NG F0R Y0UR G0DF0RS4K3N QU3ST?” His breath was strained and his voice breaking at certain parts, but his anger and resentment towards the god was obvious. Griefer knew he shouldn't have acted out like that, but before his brain could stop it, his mouth had already spat out those words to the god. He wasn't going to get out this building alive.
This time, Telamon didn't answer at all. The quiet stretched on for so long that Griefer thought that he might as well be committing a federal crime by breaking it first.
When the god spoke at last, it was unlike anything Griefer had felt before. Maybe it was pure, unchainable rage or the helpless feeling of not being able to do anything even after figuring out the final mystery.
However, it didn't matter to Griefer, as he soon possessed no recollection on the entirety of this encounter.
NOTE(PLS READ BEFORE CONTINUING!!): This is a Forsaken x Block Tales crossover fanfiction. The characters used in this work do not belong to me, but instead belong to their original creators. This was not created using AI and i do not support AI “art”. I have no connection to souldrivenlove nor do I support any of their(i'll use they/them here as the internet seems at a debate of their gender)claims or actions. There will be somewhat triggering themes or mentions of triggers(eg. self harm, gore, etc)which i will tag on every post as a trigger warning, so please read through it if you are sensitive to such. There will be no ships contained in this work, and is completely fictional(so expect some hcs). If you have any problems with the contents mentioned above, please feel free to leave; you are not forced to see my work and i am not forcing you to. Thank you for reading.
EPILOGUE
It's been a few days since they left. And honestly? It's better that they did. I'm glad they were able to escape. Really, I am. It's most likely the best outcome one can face here. Unlike the rest of these incompetent idiots. How long had it been that I had to save them, time and time again, only to be met with taunts and whispers behind my back? They deserved this hell. For everything they'd done when they were alive, and for how they've treated me.
It was minutes before dawn, when the world was at its darkest moment. I’ve got to act fast. I glanced up at the floating eye in the sky, clenching my fists.
“I met my end of the deal,” I started, my voice a hushed shout– if that made sense. Though I was standing on a lone cabin's roof, there was really no telling if that meant I was safe from wandering eyes. Except for the one I'm talking to, that is. “I brought all of them to you,” I pointed a finger at the direction of the main cabin. “It's time you completed yours,” This was going to be the final time I’m at a disadvantageous position like this.
Truth be told, I don't trust this abomination, not with any part of me, but this is my best ticket out of here. I needed to comply. Just this once. Just one more time.
“Very well,” Gods, I hate it when it speaks. It's always just a bunch of static and noise. Couldn't at least give me a heads-up whenever it decided to bust my eardrums like that? At least I'll get a chance to prepare, then.
As I rubbed my ears in agony, a tear in reality appeared before my eyes. I couldn't take my eyes off it. After all, it's not every day that someone experiences a miracle close to that of a god's. It seemingly ripped through the air in one swift motion, and widened into the size of a door. It glowed a subtle orange, and made me feel compelled to enter. It was as if the doorway was urging me inside.
I looked up at it one last time. It was there, as always, unblinking and unmoving, watching my every move. This better not be another one of its tricks.
I let out a short exhale. This is it. I'm finally going home. I don't know nor care of what will happen to the other survivors, but I do vaguely recall it mumbling some gibberish about it planning on giving its audience a fresh form of entertainment by “switching things around”. I– the person they looked down on the most– will give my final bow and make the grand finale of this show.
“Charlotte, don't pick at your hair, dear. Good. Now, smile for the camera!” The camera flashed once or maybe twice before the photographer rose up from behind his equipment with a satisfied grin.
“A lovely family, just beautiful,” He exclaimed as he handed a soldier in uniform a few polaroids.
“Thank you,” The man had short, cropped hair the shade of lapis lazuli, deep-blue like the vast pacific waves on a stormless night. He wore camo and tan, nicely made combat boots. The multi-colored service ribbons pinned on his chest and the numeral scars laced on his skin made it evident that he was a veteran.
Next to him stood a woman and a child, undoubtedly his wife and daughter.
“Daddy, I wanna see!” The daughter was still young, anywhere around the age of six or eight. She was a brunette, just like her mother, and wore her hair in neat braids.
“Later, sweetheart,” The mother hushed, tucking a stray strand of her daughter's hair behind her ears as she patted her head lovingly.
Even after all those years, when she smiled, it felt like the first dawn of spring, warming the earth after the long months of winter. Like a sprinkle of rain after a drought, and like someone had set off fireworks inside the husband's heart. Every time her smile was in his line of sight, he fell in love with her all over again.
“M'kay,” The daughter agreed, hopping down from her seat to take her father's hand. “Can we have cake, please?” She peered up expectantly at him, tugging at his sleeves. She had her father's eyes, black as ink and gleaming under the studio's bright lights. She knew he couldn't say no to her when she gave him that look.
The husband quickly locked eyes with his wife, silently asking for her approval. She sighed in defeat, in a playful way, and gave him a slight nod.
“It is Christmas eve, I don't see why not,” The daughter squealed at her father's answer, jumping up and down for joy like she'd just won the lottery.
“I heard the bakery down the street has amazing desserts,” The mother joined in, taking her husband's side. “How about we take a look?” She gave her husband a gentle squeeze on the hand as they both gazed at their child.
“Really? Now?” The daughter was on the verge of exploding due to this absolute bliss.
“As soon as your father pays the photographer,” She reminded her husband with a small chuckle, to which the husband promptly took out his wallet to hand the other man his payment. It was embarrassing to have forgotten such a simple thing, but he couldn't help it that when he was with the love of his life and his one and only daughter, the rest of the world just melted away.
“Merry Christmas, and happy holidays!” The photographer called out before he shut the doors behind the family.
The winter wind was fierce, digging at his skin like thin, delicate knives and sending a shiver down his spine. Despite being wrapped in several layers of clothing, the cold still managed to penetrate deep into his bones. He could only imagine how cold it was for his young daughter.
As expected, she was shaking from head to toe as if a vicious woodpecker was intent on making her its new house. The father paused at the crossroads.
“You want up, Shar?” It was hard to tell if Charlotte nodded “yes”, as she was practically vibrating like an electric drill at that point, but the father guessed she did from the desperate look in her eyes.
With as much ease as picking up a stuffed animal, the father lifted his daughter from the ground to hug her close. He could see her expression soften and her body shake significantly less as he shared his warmth. His wife giggled at the sight of her daughter clinging to her husband similar to how a newborn koala would to its mother.
When the traffic lights flickered back to green, the family made their way across and continued their stroll. Thankfully, it was cut short, as the distance between the photography studio and the famed bakery was shorter than expected.
Even from the outside, the heavenly scent of freshly baked goods was enough to drive any passersby to enter. With his free hand, the father pushed the glass-paned doors of the bakery open. The doors opened with a musical jingle of bells. If the outside seemed great, the insides far surpassed that.
Jaunty, festive music blasted from invisible speakers, not too noisy but loud enough for the whole store to feel like a part of the holiday season. The buzzing of chatter from other customers mixed with the constant sweetness in the air contributed to the cheery atmosphere as well.
“Welcome to Builder Brother's Bakery!” An employee chirped merrily when they saw the family enter, before they swiftly led another family to the counter to take care of their purchases.
“I think,” The mother started, as she set her daughter down from her husband's arms. “You should pick out a cake for tonight, Shar. How does that sound?” Charlotte's eyes twinkled at the very thought.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!!” She nearly trampled over another kid in excitement while running off to the cake section, her mother barely being able to follow up.
Following the events of spending countless minutes staring at dozens of cakes in varying sizes and flavors, bothering any and all employees that came by with a million questions about each product, and making her parents run circles around the shop just trying to keep track of her, Charlotte finally decided on a single cake.
It was a whipped cream vanilla, elegantly decorated with sparkling white frosting and edible white-chocolate flowers. To the child, it was the most beautiful cake she had ever laid her eyes on. It was perfect.
“That'll be 75 Robux, please,” The employee managing the counter stated after scanning the item.
The journey home was brief, which the family was extremely thankful for, as the husband managed to catch a cab amidst the packed crowd. It seemed that everyone was out and about, buying gifts for loved ones and enjoying the last remaining days of the year, flooding the streets with the holiday mood.
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blink of an eye. They had a hearty dinner, enjoyed the cake for dessert, and watched a Christmas movie.
“That cake was more expensive than last time,” The wife remarked, after she was done putting her daughter, who had fallen asleep in the middle of the movie, no doubt tired from the busy day, to bed.
“I noticed,” The husband replied, the sunny look on his face from earlier replaced with something dark and grim.
A minute of hesitation lingered between the couple before the wife spoke again.
“Did you get a letter from the army?" It was in the form of a question, but it didn't sound anything like it. Because she already knew the answer. It was an unspoken plea, an urge, to give the husband a chance to confirm the truth by his own words.
“A few days ago,” He admitted, unable to meet his wife's eyes. “They want me in the front lines,” He had prayed and hoped that this moment would never come. He'd hoped that if he could pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary, he could keep ignoring the heavy weight on his shoulder. He could let go of the guilt clawing at his stomach. And to think that the one thing responsible for all of it is a single piece of paper. The truth was bare and vulnerable for the roaring winter wind to rip and tear through.
“I can't go,” The husband declared. For the first time in a while, his voice quavered midway. The holiday lights made his eyes glisten, as thin lines of tears formed in its corners. He couldn't recall the last time he'd broken down in front of someone like this, let alone feel as hopeless as he was now. He wasn't one to shed a tear or show signs of weakness often. His job demanded he always stay strong.
“You have to,” She whispered, after letting out a shaky breath, as if speaking any louder would let the whole world know. She moved to sit beside him, cradling his scarred face with her smooth hands. Her eyes were sparkling with sadness as well.
“I won't return,” He sobbed, unable to keep the stinging pain inside any longer. “I- I won't be there on Charlotte's next birthday, I won't be there to comfort her when she gets hurt. I won't be there to hold her hand when she's walking down the aisle,” He let out a shuddering breath, gasping for air, as he buried his face into his wife's touch. “She'll never forgive me, and I'll never be able to forgive myself,”
He knew he couldn't disobey direct orders. Yet every part of his being screamed at him to commit that act of treason. He couldn't leave his family to fend for themselves. What good was saying lives if he couldn't save the ones he cared the most?
His wife didn't speak a word, calmly soothing her lover as droplets of her sorrow fell down her cheeks.
She couldn't tell him that there was still a chance he could live to return home. It was true, but it was a cruel hope that would drive a man insane in pursuit. She couldn't bear the thought of further burdening her husband for a molecular possibility.
Their fate had already been sealed, from the moment that letter with his name had been placed on their front porch. The only thing they could do was pray to whatever god that foresaw this world that he may survive.
Daybreak felt to have come quick.
“Daddy, do you have to go?” Charlotte whined, obviously dissatisfied at the reality that her father would be gone for work, let alone on Christmas day.
The soldier patted his daughter's head instead of giving her a straightforward answer.
“I'll be back before you know it, Shar,” It pained him to acknowledge that his last words to his beloved daughter may be a string of carefully forged lies.
“Goodbye, Daddy,”
He gave his daughter one last smile before heading out the door. It was one last goodbye he would carry to his grave.
