Chapter Text
Scar can’t stay in the tower, no matter how much he may want to. He wants nothing more than to stay curled up on the hard, unforgiving stone platform, staring at the weapon and the hands that had killed his best friend. Sent him off somewhere where Scar couldn’t follow.
There’s no blood on the floor, and it strikes a dull chord in Scar’s numb heart. It feels like there should be. It feels like the entire world should be stained with it, but the stone is still gray, and the sky is still blue, and the grass is still green. It doesn’t make sense. Where’s all the Red?
He has to get up. He doesn’t have time.
It takes a monumental amount of effort just to sit up, a weight that feels like a mountain resting on his shoulders and anchoring itself in his chest. It’s grief, writhing behind his ribcage and clawing at the inside of his skin; not as if it’s trying to get out, but more like it’s trying to make room. It will never find a space big enough to live comfortably, but that’s just the way of things. Grief was never comfortable — just a twisted beast trying to shove itself into the place where love had been.
It takes several aborted movements before Scar can pick up his discarded bow again, and even then his hands shake. The wood grain beneath his fingertips feels like sandpaper. Tear tracks are still drying on his face. As the blood slowly stops rushing through his ears, he can pick up on the low, birdlike sounds of quiet distress emanating from the back of his throat. Barely audible, but still there.
He closes his eyes, desperately trying to pull himself together, at least into something capable of getting up.
Eventually, he manages it, weak legs sending him towards the nearby wall for support. He shivers, wind teasing at his hair and stinging at his face. The sun has fully risen, and Grian is gone. For good.
It’s a good thing, he tells himself, numb and aching, because it’s true. He’d known all along that it was going to happen. He’d known that it had to happen. Grian had to die so that he could keep on living, far away from this nightmare. Knowing that doesn’t make the image of Grian’s horrified and helpless expression disappear from the inside of his eyelids.
Scar takes a long, trembling breath, struggling to get out of his own head, fighting to clear the invading fog of terror and sorrow in his mind. His thoughts feel slow and clumsy. He has to move.
He still has a few more friends to send home.
The climb to the ground is a hazy blur of aching limbs and numb skin. It’s only when he has the ground beneath his feet that everything starts to feel real again.
The Secret Keeper statue is a short distance behind him, and when he catches a glimpse of it he’s surprised by the intensity of the anger that wells up inside him. His hands clench into fists, furious tears stinging at his blood-red eyes, chest heaving with shaking breaths. The statue has not changed, or moved, or crumble — stony and silent in response to the many faces of suffering set before it. Scar imagines the Watchers in their cozy little realm, delighted at what Scar has just done. For a long moment, he is entirely lost in the part of him that wants to tear it down with his bare hands and his teeth.
If he could do that, though, he wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.
The anger leaves him in a rush that makes him dizzy, and he swallows hard against the jagged lump in his throat. He almost misses the anger. Without it, there’s just— Nothing.
He imagines Grian at home, running across the bridge at his base to meet Mumbo in the middle, and he feels a little better. They’re safe.
Scar pulls his hood over his head and turns away from the stone Secret Keeper, footsteps crushing the dry grass beneath his feet as he goes to find the rest of his friends. It’s about that time to do what his taskbook says.
He catches up with the remaining Mounders just as they leave their base, patched armor and sharpened tools implying that they’ve been preparing for a fight. They all have blood and dirt-stained clothes, calloused hands wrapped loosely around their weapon of choice. Scar glances past them, through the gate, and looks at Pearl’s house; for just a moment, he can hear an echo of laughter and joy — the majority of the server crammed in the small area for an impromptu sleepover party.
But an echo is all that’s left of it.
The Mounders stop talking amongst themselves when they spot him, and they stop in their tracks, tense. Scar must look at least half as pathetic as he feels, because none of them immediately attack. Pearl’s eyes are lingering on his wings, unkempt and messy, something pitying in her gaze. Scar pulls them closer to his back, out of view. He has to say something.
“He was on two hearts,” Scar blurts out, voice hoarse. He clears his throat, hands flexing anxiously. He feels like he’s begging. He’s not sure why. “I had to.”
“...Are you talking about Grian?” Joel asks, eying him like he’s deciding whether to be wary or concerned. “You killed him?”
There it was, plain as day. Someone had said it out loud. Scar had killed him.
The silence goes on for a bit too long, and then Pearl breaks it.
“Guess he wanted you to have a better shot, yeah?” she says, quirking a lopsided smile at him; small and strained, but persisting. “Figured he’d give you the ten hearts?”
Scar nods blankly — a bit dazed, still.
Bdubs eyes him speculatively. “You look terrible.”
Despite everything, it startles a shaky laugh loose from Scar’s throat. It’s very honest. Very Bdubs.
“And you’re as stunning as always,” Scar shoots back, teasing grin a bit easier to paste on. “Have you done something new to your hair? You— It’s really working for you.”
“Don’t be sweet-talkin’ me,” Bdubs scolds, scowling. “We’ve got to start killing you, soon.”
“Hear me out about that,” Scar says, hands out placatingly, walking a bit closer. “What if you didn’t? At least until the others are gone. Like a…. a truce.”
Pearl raises an eyebrow, sweaty strands of hair clinging to her face. “A truce,” she repeats dryly. “This late in the game?”
“Hey, hey, it’s all up to you,” Scar says, shrugging like it’s of no consequence. He makes a show of glancing at his wrist. “But you should know that I’ve got, oh, just about fifty-five hearts.” He looks back up at them, steady and grim. “In case you were worried I’d be dead weight.”
The Mounders all exchange glances. Scar waits, cloak rippling in the wind.
“If you’re not interested,” Scar says when the silence has gone on too long, “I can always take my offer up the mountain. I hear they have great dental insurance.”
Joel snorts and rolls his eyes, but his shoulders drop some of their tension. “Fine, Scar. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“But no backstabbing until the others are gone,” Pearl says sternly, sword lying in wait at her side. “Got it?”
Scar nods. He can work with that. “Got it.”
They all nod at him with varying degrees of acceptance, and Scar walks up to join their little group. Grian’s feather tickles at his neck where it’s hanging from his ear, and he flinches, near imperceptible. He clenches his jaw and redirects his focus.
“We’re pretty sure they’re up at their base right now,” Pearl is saying, eyes lingering on the mountain in the distance with a calculating gaze. “I was thinkin’ we’d pay ‘em a visit."
They only just manage to make it to the Secret Keeper before Gem and the Scotts show themselves, three distant figures making their way down the mountain towards them, a veritable army of wolves following in their footsteps. Scar tenses, eyes sharp and focused. The four of them — the Mounders, is he a Mounder now? — stand at the top of the slope, waiting for the others to meet them.
It doesn’t quite feel like they’re about to go right into fighting, but Scar keeps his bow in his hand regardless. Whatever happens, this will likely be the last moment of civility that this world will see.
“You know what has to happen eventually,” Scott says, calm red eyes watching them carefully. “It’s just how do we want to do it, do we just—”
“How do we want to do it is a good question,” Joel interrupts. His enchanted diamond sword is in his hand as he stares back.
Scott’s eerily level gaze slides over to Scar, and Scar tenses. He’s worried, suddenly, that Scott will see right through him, that he’ll know what he’s done — But all Scott does is look at him, steady and resolute, and ask, “Are you sure you’re on the right side?”
Numb by necessity, Scar replies flatly. “I don’t think it matters.”
Something in Scott’s expression drops slightly, and his eyebrows furrow minutely. Behind him, Impulse narrows his eyes a little, mouth twisting downward. Even Gem looks confused. Scar can almost feel the quizzical looks against his back from his newfound allies. It’s all proof of one thing: that Scar does not sound like himself.
Here, though, it hardly matters. They probably think they’ll have time to check up on him when they all get home. Their ignorance works in his favor, because they don’t ask questions now.
Joel fires off his crossbow loaded with rockets, the high-pitched whine and resulting explosion ringing long and loud in his ears. The air turns foggy with smoke, and it stings at his eyes. His immediate instinct is to try to open his other eyes, but he can’t seem to concentrate enough to do so, magic slipping through his fingers when he tries to hold onto it. Bdubs’ and Pearl’s skeleton horses spooking on either side of him doesn’t help his concentration, so he gives up and stumbles backwards, blinking rapidly as the smoke clears.
Joel is immediately bombarded with Scott’s pack of wolves, all snapping jaws and sharp teeth as they surround him. Scott and his allies had retreated during the short moment of chaos, running back across the field towards their tower at the base of their mountain. Scar hangs back with Bdubs, shooting arrows from the arm of the Secret Keeper, using what little high ground they have while they still can. Joel runs recklessly after the retreating team, and Scar and the rest follow behind him. There’s really nothing else to do.
Night falls quickly, but it doesn’t stop the fighting. They get separated, at some point, and Scar — hood over his head — sneaks around the back of the mountain to infiltrate Gem and the Scotts’ base from behind. The cherry blossoms are raining petals down on the ground — looking more and more bare every day with the changing of the weather — and Scar sets them on fire as he goes, just because he can. They’re far too pretty for this ugly game they play.
“Fancy meetin’ you here,” Pearl calls to him, bow drawn as she shoots at Impulse up on a tree. “Was starting to think you bailed on us.”
“And miss this party?” Scar quips back, hissing as an arrow grazes his shoulder. “I’d never.”
Pearl grins at him sharply, all wild eyes and tangled hair, and then she goes back to shooting.
It becomes a blur for a while — a mess of flaming arrows in the dark — and then Impulse lets out a sharp cry as he’s finally dislodged from his place on the tree. Scar side steps onto the diving board, eyes glinting in the moonlight as he scans for Impulse, hearing rapid footsteps on the stairs.
He throws an ender pearl, and his skin is still tingling from the teleportation when Impulse emerges from the mountain, running full tilt down the stairs. Scar draws his bow and notches an arrow. The first shot misses. The second shot kills.
(Impulse is standing there, Bdubs behind him, and they both look concerned. Impulse’s eyes keep flitting between his face and his wings, concern in the set of his brow.
“Scar?” Impulse says worriedly, still with a grounding hand on his shoulder. “Are you with us?”)
Lightning leads, and thunder follows. Scar turns around.
“Did you get him?” Pearl shouts from inside the base, accent made all the more prominent from adrenaline.
Scar makes his way back inside, nodding although she can’t see him. “I got him.”
“Nice, mate.”
“He was doing a— a real sneaky move there.”
Pearl chuckles in response, glancing at her wrist and then over at Scar. “Just Gem an— Gem and Scott, now.”
Scar takes a few minutes to set off tnt on one of the structures on the mountain as Pearl disappears. The tnt ignites, and immediately following the resulting explosion, a flash of lightning illuminates the dark sky, stopping him in his tracks.
Thunder ringing in his ears, Scar scrambles to the edge of the mountain with wide eyes, barely able to make out shadowy figures fighting at the bottom, right on the edge of the lake. Heart beating doubletime in his chest, Scar glances down at the playerlist, mouth going dry at the sight of Bdubs grayed-out name.
(“What, the wings?” Scar says, adopting a nonchalant tone and stretching them out to the side.
“Yes, the freaking wings!” Bdubs says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What the— When did that happen?”
“Oh, I’ve always had these,” Scar says, shrugging.
“Oh, you…” Bdubs starts, almost like he’s in awe of Scar’s audacity. “You’re the worst.”)
He scrambles for his bow, firing off a quick shot before realizing that it wouldn’t be worth it to take any more, not from way up on a mountain in the dark. Instead, he takes a quick bite out of a golden apple, hoping that he won’t choke on it, and he grabs one of his two remaining ender pearls with his other hand, throwing it haphazardly in the direction of the fighting.
Joel is dead before it lands.
("You can take anything from the chests, if you want,” Joel suggests absentmindedly, looking through a few of them himself.
“You’re being nice,” Scar says, confusion clear in his voice, and Joel’s shoulders slump. Then he turns around.
“...She would have found it funny.” He glances down at the bone in his hand, a slight, sad smile on his face. “She would have laughed.”)
“Scar! Scar’s here!”
Gem’s voice is muffled through the rushing in his ears from teleporting, but he turns towards it and starts swinging his sword. There’s the dull thunk of metal on wood as he meets Gem’s shield, followed in quick succession by the sharp teeth of their wolves biting at his legs, and then the sting of an arrow as he retreats, propelling him into the water. It’s a shock to his system, the cold of the lake seeping into his bones, and it’s a few long seconds before he gathers himself enough to swim for the opposite shore.
Scar runs, keeping half an eye out for Pearl, unsure if she’s still his ally; Gem and Scott waste no time in giving chase, arrows whizzing by his head and in one case, landing in his arm. The force of it sends him falling down into a small ravine, hitting the ground with a short cry of pain, air rushing out of his lungs as his wings flap futilely against the dirt. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, coughing and struggling to breathe. Above him, he can hear Gem and Scott say something about Pearl, and hope surges back to life in his chest at the thought that she’s still with him. For now.
When his lungs are in moderately working order again, he grabs his last ender pearl and throws it upward. He lands a short distance away from the crater; behind Gem, who’s crouching at the edge, unaware that he got out. He shoots an arrow at her, catching her in the side and sending her falling down in his place with a short cry of surprise.
Scar hurries back towards spawn, but doesn’t make it far before he runs into Scott, even more arrows flying his direction.
Then Pearl comes and chases him away. Suddenly, there’s a little bit of space to breathe.
“How you doin’, Scar?” she asks, sounding flustered but steady. “How’s your heart situation?”
Scar looks down. Half a heart below twenty. “Really bad, but it’s— I’m hangin’ in there.”
“Really bad?” Pearl repeats, something odd in her tone of voice that makes Scar stop and turn to face her. Her mouth is set in a thin line, eyes flickering between his wings and his face. She seems to come to a decision. “Look, Scar, at the end of the day, I want you to kill me, you get an extra ten hearts, a’right?”
She would never offer if she knew what he was playing for; if she knew the deal he’d made. It’s not the only reason he says no to her suggestion, but it’s the one that matters the most. She’d never forgive herself if she found out she’d sacrificed herself just so Scar could jump on the grenade for all of them.
“I’m not gonna kill you, Pearl,” Scar says, turning away pointedly and continuing in the direction Scott had gone.
“Just be careful, Scar. Don’t go dying on me,” Pearl says after a beat, thin thread of defeat in her voice. “My Mounders all died on me, so last thing I want is you dying.”
“I’ll do my best,” Scar replies, and it’s the truth. He really will.
They circle the server chasing after Scott, and eventually track him all the way back to the Secret Keeper statue, just in time to witness the bolt of lighting from the clear blue sky as Scott gives Gem ten more hearts. Gem had gotten the same proposition that Scar had gotten, but she hadn’t had a reason not to take it.
There’s only three of them left. Scar slowly looks up at the Secret Keeper statue, cold and unmoving. Tears of overwhelmed frustration prickle at his eyes, but he blinks them away harshly. Later.
“Scar,” Pearl starts, but Scar shuts her down immediately.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says again. “I refuse. I won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Pearl looks at him, something vaguely suspicious in her blood-red eyes, and Scar turns away.
“There’s Gem,” he says, pointing at the figure with bright orange hair emerging from behind the Secret Keeper’s arm.
“Alright, Scar,” Pearl gives in, an aching exhaustion in her voice as she draws her sword. “We’ll do it your way.”
The last fight is always the hardest. Scar has only made it to one other finale, but he knows intimately how people fight when they’re one step away from winning. One step away from going home.
Two steps, in this case. Two final obstacles.
The three of them meet in the middle. They collide in the middle.
“What are you doing?!” Gem shouts, fearful desperation in her voice, gazing up at Pearl with a hurt expression as she dodges their arrows. “We were friends!”
Something about the genuine confusion in her words makes Scar falter for a moment. It’s her first game, and for the first time, it’s painfully obvious.
“I don’t know!” Pearl shouts back, her tone a maelstrom of emotions. “I don’t know, Gem.”
None of them ever know.
But none of them will ever have to do it again.
Scar slides down the slope and swings his sword wildly, dodging and blocking as Gem fights back. His wings are pinned tight to his back, protected if only slightly by his cloak, whirling around him as he moves. An arrow from Pearl sets her ablaze, and Gem retreats a few paces, frantically looking for water to douse the flames. Scar follows her — doesn’t give her a chance to regroup before he’s on her again, blade cutting through the cold air to land blow after blow.
Gem gives as good as she’s getting, and Scar can feel several stinging wounds all over his body, aching limbs running on little more than adrenaline and purpose. He’s down to five and a half hearts when he lands the killing blow. Gem’s eyes go wide with realization and fear, sword slipping from her hand, and then she’s gone, thunder in her wake.
“You did it,” Pearl says, and Scar looks up at her numbly, sword slowly dripping blood into the dry grass. His expression must be something to behold, because Pearl goes still. “...Scar?”
One more. Just one more.
One more and it will all be over.
Scar draws his bow.
Pearl shouts in surprise, lurching to the left and scrambling for her shield as the arrow grazes her. “Oh!” she exclaims loudly, looking at him in shock as she starts backing up. “Okay, we’re going straight in, I—”
Scar shoots at her again.
Everything after that becomes a blur of terror and guilt and resolve. He gives her everything he’s got; he throws down the zombie spawn eggs he has, he ignites tnt as she chases after him, and he slashes at her with his sword when she gets close. His skin burns where her fire aspect sword had gotten him, his clothes singed and dirty. He chases her, and never once looks at the Secret Keeper statue, although he is hyper aware of its presence nearby. Watching.
Pearl’s expression — when he catches glimpses of it — seems confused. Scared, almost, but not for herself. For him. Scar knows he should probably be trying to make quips or crack jokes, anything to lighten the mood, but he can’t find it in himself to do it. All he can do is lunge and dodge and stab, because if he stops for even a second he’s afraid he’ll lose the will to try. And he can’t.
( We will stop the games, the Secret Keeper says, but only if you win. )
Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life.
His wings flare out to help him keep his balance as he and Pearl dance around each other. She’s looking tired, worn down. Scar doesn’t feel much better, but he has to hope that he can pull it off.
If he does, Pearl’s will be the last friendly face he’ll see.
It’s Pearl’s hesitation on her next sword hit that has Scar realize he’s started crying, silent tears streaming down his face. Pearl backs up several steps, concern expanding into full blown worry in her eyes. Scar allows himself to stand still for a moment, chest heaving and arms shaking, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead. Well, either sweat or blood. He stares at Pearl, a black hole of helpless heartache growing stronger in his chest. He thinks it might kill him, the grief he feels. How could it not?
“Something’s wrong,” Pearl says finally, an anxious burst of quiet words, and it falls like a blow between them. “Scar, what— what’s wrong with you?”
Scar shakes his head, because he doesn't want to tell her. She’ll find out from Grian, she’ll know eventually, but he doesn’t want to see the look on her face when she does.
And then, because he can’t help himself, he looks towards the Secret Keeper. It’s quick, brief, but Pearl clocks it anyway, following his gaze. Her brow furrows. She turns back to him.
“Have they been bothering you?” she asks him, a bit softer.
“Pretty…consistently,” Scar replies, trying for a bit of levity. It falls short.
“They can’t get at you, back home,” Pearl says. It’s supposed to be comforting. Scar can’t meet her eyes.
And— And the thing is, he doesn’t want the last thing he says to a friend to be a lie. The realization hits him hard, and in its wake he feels almost…calmer. Heartbroken, but resolved.
They’re surrounded by dying sunflowers; it’s gotten too cold. Or maybe they just forgot how to find the sun.
“Pearl,” Scar says, soft and apologetic. He meets her gaze. “I’m not going home.”
Pearl’s breath hitches, loud in the empty world, and her eyes widen with realization.
“And you’re never coming back here, or to anywhere like it,” Scar says, voice breaking, but he feels certain. “That’s the deal.”
“Wait—” Pearl stumbles backwards a bit, and looks a little bit like the world is ending around her. “What are you talking about? Scar—”
“Could you take care of Jellie?” Scar blurts, emotion clogging his throat as he thinks about it. He’d almost forgotten, but he’d been trying not to think about it. “She— she doesn’t like tuna, but salmon’s okay. And she likes to sleep on your feet. Could you just— Please, could you…”
“No, Scar,” Pearl says, like she’s begging. “You’re gonna take care of her, okay? Because you’re going to come home. You are.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes! Yes you—”
“Tell Cub I’m sorry,” Scar interrupts, looking down at the bow in his hand. The wood is scratched. “Tell everyone I’m sorry.”
“Wait—”
Scar pulls back on the bowstring, arrow notched, and aims for her heart. He hesitates.
A sound rings out from behind him, and he turns, flinching — and the arrow flies out of his hand. Scar stares at the zombie that had been slowly approaching, a lumbering mess of skin and flesh, and then he turns back.
Pearl has vanished.
“Pearl?” Scar calls, confused. He takes a few steps forward, glancing over the edge of the little ravine nearby. “Pearl?”
The ravine is empty, and Scar is on his knees beside it. His hand slips a little against the grass, and Scar flips it over to look at it. It’s smeared with blood. He stares. He can smell the ozone in the air, but that’s— He hadn’t heard the thunder. Why hadn’t he heard it?
“...Pearl?”
A presence manifests itself in his mind, and the hairs on the back of Scar’s neck stand up. He winces. He remembers this feeling — it’s how it had felt when the Watchers had been talking to him, back at the beginning of everything. But that had been a dull drone with many voices, like someone had left the radio on in another room. Whatever was happening now felt like a direct line.
He expects the voice to come, but still flinches when it does.
[ She’s dead. ] The Secret Keeper tells him, voice everywhere all at once. It echoes in his head as he stares down at his hands. [ You won. ]
“I know,” Scar says numbly. “I know."
There is only one button left at the statue. It stands centered in the stone courtyard, stark and intimidating. The other two have disappeared, obsolete.
Scar stares at it for a long while, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes on him.
And then, with a trembling hand, he presses it.
