Warnings: mentions of sedatives, implied kidnapping, murder, perma-death
~☆☆☆~
He always thought that he was being followed.
Always thinking it's just a hermit... Or two...
But the only thing known to him..
This wasn't Hermitcraft.
~☆☆☆☆~
"Can you stop running for five minutes!?"
Grian planted his sword into the ground, "What!? What do you want!?"
"I just wanna talk!"
"I don't care! I'm not trying to be followed by some Watcher ghost!"
"Grian, I'm not a monster."
"Yeah? Well you're definitely not Mumbo!" Grian grabbed his sword and stabbed the being through the chest, causing him to dissipate into purple smoke, "I just wanna go home. Let me out, I don't want to keep killing illusions of my friends!"
He looked to his left and spotted a nearby horse, befriended and saddled, he rode off into the hills. With the wind in his hair he thought;
Nothing truly deserves to be killed..
But Watchers?
They're a different kind of hell.
A different kind of devil.
~***~
"We can't keep wasting supplies on keeping him distracted."
"We don't have a choice."
"If we give him more sedatives and paralyzers he'll overdose!"
"If that kid doesn't turn to our side soon, I will personally rip your wind pipe out of your throat."
One of the Watchers walked out of the room only to return with a hermit in their arms, thrashing against them shouting swears at them.
"LET ME GO YOU BASTARDS." He shouted as he was restrained directly next to Grian who had started to have his veins glow purple, "What are you doing to him?!"
"You're just a statistic."
He was sent into Grian's world, his mind, a distraction at that.
Upon his entry he realized that the world had started to corrupt, the grass was no longer green, it was yellow and dead, the flowers wilted around him. Part of this scared him, the other part of him knew he was only here because of Watchers.
For twenty minutes he wandered, no mobs to be seen anywhere he went. Unmoving corpses littered the ground, disintegrating upon walking up to them. He worried for Grian.
How is he holding up? Is he still him?
What's running through his brain?
His thoughts were interrupted by a ball of flames. It trapped him in a circle, the it appeared.
"Grian?" He asked as the being walked in, then instantly realized the the blonde, curly haired boy he once knew didn't exist, "You're not Grian..."
"You're a statistic." The being once known as Grian rose a sword and sliced the hermits throat, an 'X' scar displayed itself across his hand, "One down...
Ten to go."
