I think about the alternate universes where a different faculty member found Carmen as a baby and subsequently betrayed VILE for her constantly. How the team dynamic would change. How they’d grow as characters. The shenanigans they’d get into

(Also how good Shadowsan would be as a straight up, no holds barred villain. But that’s another drawing for another day)

New Life Chapter 2

Grian yanked his comm out of his pocket and pulled up the player list. He needed to know if he was the only yellow life. He glanced over it and saw a mix of colors. Him, Jimmy, Scott, Ren, and Cleo were all on their yellow lives. He saw a smattering of light green names in the list (Impulse, Skizz, and Bigb). The rest were all a dark green.

“Why do we all have a different number of lives?” Ren asked in chat. Martyn’s response popped in. “I think it’s random this round. Probably a way to make it more interesting.” “You don’t all have four lives?” Lizzie asked.

Grian froze, hand hovering over the communicator screen. Lizzie had four lives. How did Lizzie have four lives? That shouldn’t have been possible. You got three lives, and then you permadied. Or at least, you were a ghost until everyone on the server bit the dust. Lizzie shouldn’t have gotten more. It wasn’t fair.

Bitterly, Grian forced a laugh out. Of course it wasn’t fair. Nothing about this curse of a server was fair. He should’ve been on Hermitcraft, pulling pranks and building an alleyway filled with magic. He wasn’t supposed to be here, shoved back into a horrific trial of life and death. It wasn’t fair.

A new message on his comm drew his attention back to the situation at hand. “Wait, do the different colors mean a different number of lives?” Mumbo asked “Yeah,” Tango said. “But the maximum number should be three.” “Lime green names mean that person has three lives,” Joel explained. “Yellow means two lives. Red means one life. Trust me, Mumbo. You don’t want to be on your red life.”

A chill ran through Grian, and quickly, he shut off the chat. He didn’t need to be reminded of crimes past. He needed to shift through his admin panels anyways, figure out what was different this time around.

He slumped against a tree, sliding to the ground as he entered command after command. Screen after screen of code appeared, most of it the same player code as always. But about twenty screens in, he noticed something strange in the list of crafting recipes. In the TNT recipe, where there should have been gunpowder, there was instead sugarcane. Grian whistled softly under his breath. That was a game changer. Explosives would be so much easier to get his hands on his own. He chose to ignore the idea that the new recipe would also make it easier for others to make the weapons.

He dug further into the code, and found a list of commands, most of which were disabled for all players, even the admin. But one jumped out at him. “Give life.” His eyes widened. Could they transfer lives between themselves? Was that why some players had more lives? He swore under his breath. With a mechanic like this, lives were the most valuable currency imaginable. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he realized that meant he could push himself back up to his green life. Maybe he could even gain more.

His mind began racing, sorting through and dismissing people he could scam out of lives. He couldn’t do anyone who was on their yellow life like him. They needed to avoid red lives at all costs. He should probably also avoid anyone on their green life, just in case. But given that everyone with a dark green life seemed to have four lives. Finally, he settled on Scar.

A knot of guilt nestled up in his chest, but he shoved it down. Scar would understand. He would probably be happy to five it in fact. Besides, Grian had already owed Scar a life. Scar could return the favor. Surely he’d understand. They were surviving. Putting Scar down to three lives wouldn’t really hurt him. Scar had survived into the late game with only one life. It would be fine. Before Grian could second guess himself further, he stood up and set off.

Scott dug into the ground, pickaxe breaking through the stone and leaving a small hole. He swung again, hair hanging down into his face. He brushed it away, but froze when he felt cold metal around his temples. Slowly, he reached up, hands curling around a thin circlet, fingers wrapping around thin spires of gold. He removed it and held it in front of his face. It was a thin gold crown, lightly tarnished. It was in near perfect condition, except for a small trace of dark red along the bottom of some of the spires.

Scott’s face fell, eyes clouding over, as memories filled his head. The sight of a small, broken body, an arrow pierced through the chest, a grave adorned with flowers and a small garden of poppies planted around it. Anger welled up in his chest. He reeled back and chucked the crown away from him. It clattered to the ground loudly, and Scott’s shoulders slumped in relief. Then, slowly, the crown began to dissolve into bunches of light. Then, they began to float off the ground and swirled around Scott. They settled into his hair, and hardened into metal once again. “No, no, no,” Scott muttered, yanking the crown off his head, and smashing it into the ground. He couldn’t do this again. The crown simply appeared on his head yet again, heedless of his wishes.

Suddenly, a soft voice drifted through the air, startling him. “Hello?” it called out. “Is everything alright?” “It’s fine!” Scott called, a bit more harshly than he meant to. “Are you sure?” the voice said. Then, Pearl appeared from behind a rock. “I heard something fall.” “Oh, yeah,” Scott said, forcing himself to sound fine. “Just dropped my pick. Nothing to worry about. Say...” he muttered, eyeing her wrist and the small dark green hearts embedded there. “Mind showing me your wrist? Wanna know how many lives you ended up with.” “Oh, sure,” Pearl said, cheerfully pulling up her jacket sleeve and proffering her wrist. Scott’s jaw dropped slightly when he saw the six hearts there. “You have six lives,” he muttered. “Yeah,” Pearl said sheepishly, pulling her sleeve back down. “I figured from everyone’s reaction to Lizzie and Mumbo having four lives, this much was unusual.” “Yeah,” Scott said. “Last time, we only had a maximum of three lives. You know...a deal might be in our best interest.”

Bdubs and Etho blocked up the entrance to their little cave. “Kind of glad I ended up with you,” Bdubs said. “If there’s anyone on the server I’d want as an ally, it’s you, Etho. And maybe Grian. I mean, he did win the game last time.” “I’m honored,” Etho said, pulling a small furnace from his pocket and tossing it to the ground. It expanded to a full size block, and Etho began to load it with fuel. “But you know I’m not actually all that powerful, right? I only survived last time because I got lucky. And even then, I died to something as pathetic as a fire. Don’t overestimate my abilities.” “Well, don’t sell yourself short,” Bdubs said. “You’re ancient. You know things about this universe that I’m pretty sure even some of the gods don’t.”

Etho opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, floating text appeared in front of his and Bdubs’ eyes. “1...” “What is the server doing now?” Bdubs asked. “I don’t know,” Etho said, the slightest hint creeping into his voice. “2...” “It’s counting down,” Bdubs said. “I noticed,” Etho deadpanned, loading the salmon he had caught into the furnace. “3...”

Across the server, the text read: “You are not the boogeyman.” But for Bdubs, bright red letters screamed, “You are the boogeyman.” What did that mean?