Chapter Text
He needs to get out. He needs to leave, needs to disappear because they are Watching -
They are Watching .
Xelqua digs through code and commands like one would dig through the bargain bin. They are not here, not yet, but the eyes on his back are metaphorical for once, and they See him as he digs through world after world. They all feel wrong, all feel Seen -
Until his hand clasps over one, a world that is warm to the touch and feels half-present to his sharp eyes. More than that, his Gaze seems to simply pass over the world. With a desperate cry, Xelqua pushes his own code into it - watches as ones and zeros and strings of words he cannot read slip into its own, like water through the cracks.
He feels only the barest amount of a searing gaze upon him, sees Eyes begin to blink at his own -
And then -
The Watcher screams as his own code collides against the world’s, brushing together momentarily. It feels like infinity has closed in on itself. He can feel talons scrape past him, reaching for his robes and missing. He can feel as their claws dig into the back of his head, tearing slightly and leaving a warm trickle down his scalp - before gravity drags him further away, down and down and down. He can See them blink, See their masks as they reel back, more surprised than he has ever seen them.
And then -
He falls for only a moment before colliding onto solid ground. Grass tickles at his arms, which are partially exposed underneath his robes - and Xelqua feels like he has run a million miles. Which… is a bit odd, really, because manipulating code was supposed to come easy to him. But perhaps there was something that fought against him, or perhaps the adrenaline from the fight - from the escape - has simply run its course more thoroughly than he would have thought.
Xelqua groans against the ground, leaning back.
He’s been planning on running for a while, really, but he hadn’t been expecting to have to run so soon. Hadn’t been expecting to need to. His head throbs dully, his hair sticky against his head.
But he can’t focus on the blood that sluggishly trickles down the side of his head, though he really should - not when the world is so gorgeous .
The soil beneath him is faintly warm, soft in a way that feels like a distant memory. Xelqua brings one hand out, and brushes it against the ground, before pulling the grass beneath his palms up. He holds it to the sky - ignoring, for a moment, the rest of the world - and it is a vibrant green. He rubs the plant between his fingers, and it is silky soft.
Some tumbles onto his face, but Xelqua pays it no mind. He is too stunned, too awestruck - and.
The sun.
It shines high above him, half-obscured by leaves he has only just realized are above him, and it is warm . It is nothing like the simulations they had him look over, and Xelqua is pulling off his mask before he realizes it, white porcelain tumbling to the ground, forgotten, as he cranes his face up into the sunlight and breathes.
____
It takes a while for Xelqua to take stock of the environment around him after that, his heart rate slowing as he processes that he is alone, that the Watchers cannot reach him anymore. He spawned in an oak forest, though there are a few birch trees not too far. A river babbles nearby, its water clear and crystalline - and he has to stop again, just to pull back his sleeve and sink one hand into it. Fish swim by, lines of code and commands making them wriggle back and forth, and they are beautiful.
His white mask is left on the ground, to be claimed by nature.
He moves away from the river, looking at the rest of the area. It seems innocent, untouched. There is a chicken a bit further away, pecking at the dirt underneath a tree, looking for a worm - and there are fallen trees, felled by the elements. Some are more fresh, still solid and in one case still has leaves coating its branches - while others are old enough to crumble underneath his touch.
Fell due to snowfall, one’s code reads along its lines, while another says Chopped by player EthosLab, forgotten .
There’s a player here, then - perhaps multiple, even. But the tree has been dead for months, soft enough that Xelqua can leave an indent in it with his fingernail, and so he does not worry. Surely, they must not venture near these woods. So he continues on.
A small world is no bother to him. Especially not one that seems to be untouched.
Xelqua keeps searching, plotting. He feels - lost, honestly. There is no mission to follow, not when he was the one to escape the Watchers’ grasps in bloodshed and desperation. Xelqua is his own commander, his own pilot, and he doesn’t know what to do with the newfound freedom.
So he wanders, and he finds beautiful valleys and flowers blooming in clumps, and he finds out that perhaps this world isn’t nearly as uninhabited - as disused - as he had been foolish enough to believe. Xelqua nearly falls off the cliffside he stands upon, wings flaring outwards to steady himself as the view assaults him.
And what a view it is. As snow seeps into his sandals, its biting cold barely eliciting a reaction, Xelqua leans out as much as he can. In front of him is an impressive build, nestled between the mountaintops to his left and the forest he had spawned in, and just the barest glimpse of dark oak forest across from him.
The build itself is so overwhelmingly red , so eerie to look at - with nether brick and ruby red blocks he cannot recognize, with lava pouring out of crannies - and lime green accents that should clash with the palate, but contrast so nicely that it’s inspiring.
Is this a creative server? Or perhaps one with a skilled command-smith, who switches between survival and creative like a creature switches from swimming to walking. That would explain why Xelqua had spawned in survival, at the least.
The truth is more impressive, however.
The Watcher, curious, flies down to the build when night comes, hiding underneath its shadowy cover - though it would not do much for his flowing mostly-white robes and wings. Xelqua lands at the edge of the build, expecting for the glowing code that covers everything to betray that yes, these blocks were spawned in, created from naught.
Mined in the Nether dimension, Y 53, by TangoTek. Mined using diamond pickaxe, unnamed, enchanted with efficiency five, unbreaking two, loo-
Ah. Terrifying. (Impressive, inspiring.)
Xelqua whistles low unconsciously, before frowning. If this was a survival build -
Then this TangoTek might still frequent the area. It doesn’t take much more to inspire Xelqua to leave, after that.
(And Tango, minutes later, panickedly texts ImpulseSV.
TangoTek -> ImpulseSV
Dude
I think i just saw a specter??? In white???
Is my evil base actually summoning something, because I am not messing with that impulse
ImpulseSV -> TangoTek
lmao
TangoTek -> ImpulseSV
IMPULSE PLESAE )
He goes back into the birch woods. They’re untouched and peaceful in a way that allows his wings to settle against his back, relaxed and smooth.
Xelqua does not build a base, nor create himself armor and tools. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t need to - that is a Player’s mission, through and through, and he is no player.
Not anymore.
He hunts for fish and stray animals, their bright code giving away even those hidden behind reeds and tall grass. Cooking them becomes a bit of a problem, and a rather annoying part of his brain refuses to eat meat raw, so he instead subsidises the protein with apples off the trees, and a couple sweet berries that are found at outcrops along the woods.
The fruit fills him, but not well.
Hunger, Xelqua decides, is a stupid thing. In the Watcher’s grasps, at least he didn’t have to eat often, at least he was fed rich foods that filled him for days at a time and barely cramped his stomach, really -
- but remembering his time with the Watchers brings memories of searing pain, as well, memories of tears streaking down his face and more limbs than he remembered possessing, and a gap in his memory that he cannot help but run over like a lost tooth, hoping to find what once filled it -
Xelqua shudders, closes his eyes, and tries to breathe. The sun is warm on his skin. The breeze is refreshing, gentle.
He is no longer there. If he has to run for eons, he will - but he will never, ever go back there. (It’s a promise.)
Hunger is still annoying, though, and he cannot make himself go through the painfully human motions of making a fire, or a furnace, and so one day he decides that if there’s a rather well-developed player not far from him, they have to have some food kicking around. Some steak, or carrots even - something other than the sweet fruits that have left his mouth tasting sugary and off.
(Stealing is a Player thing, yes, but more than that it is a Watcher thing. They See and they steal and they claim all as their own, and Xelqua - he -.)
(It is a Player thing, and a Watcher thing, and because of it less of his brain refuses to cooperate. Even the pesky thing that calls itself morality simply shrugs.)
So, one afternoon, Xelqua swallows some water from the stream and shakes out his wings, rinses the leftover blood off of his face and dusts off his robes - which are a little dirty, he’ll have to wash them - and readies himself for a trip.
He leaves the safety of the treeline, starts down the hill - when the unexpected, the unwanted, comes true.
Xelqua looks away for a moment, admiring the ocean to his right - and when he focuses back on the valley that separates him and the frankly massive build, there is a player.
There is no time to turn back, to run, to hide - because as he turns to her, she spots him as well.
Xelqua’s breath quickens as his and the Player’s eyes meet. She looks startled seeing him, as well - but that can easily change into defensiveness, melt into anger or fear. Even if Players are weak, comparatively - squishy, one of his… ‘teachers’ had called them, they can be dangerous.
He is powerful, he is a creature that has been turned halfway into a demigod, but he does not want to fight, not if he doesn’t have to.
(Not engaging in combat leads to a longer life span, one side of his brain whispers.)
(The other says, in an astounded and strained voice, that that’s a player . The first he has seen, has made eye contact with, in so long.)
The Player waves at him, hesitant and with a smile that seems obviously faked. A baring of teeth, almost.
Xelqua lifts one hand, and without conscious thought, returns the wave.
She frowns at him thoughtfully, and Xelqua is a power among powers - but he feels intimidated at the glance. It feels evaluating, dangerous. (A watcher is not to be looked at.) She feels dangerous, in a way that makes his skin crawl.
He nods slowly at her, wings pinned against his back like the giant limbs can be hidden away. Maybe he needs to leave -
She nods carefully in turn, the frown not leaving her face even from the distance, and she looks away.
It is an opening, and Xelqua may be a coward but he isn’t stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. When the Player looks back to his spot, her blond hair pulled back by a bandana, the Watcher is long gone.
Or, perhaps just gone - in actuality, he has moved to a location in the treeline, crouched low. Waiting for a threat, for her to move forwards.
The Player stares for a few moments, before setting her shoulders - and Xelqua’s wings snap around him quietly, tense with anticipation. But instead of pulling out a sword, readying a bow and arrow, she pulls a chest from her inventory - and opens it.
Her inventory stays open, a thread of code around her so thick that it looks more like a shimmering fabric around her - and she pulls items out that he cannot see, placing them in the chest. And then it closes, and instead of moving forward, into the woods, the player splays out paper on top of the chest, scratching a message onto it.
She contemplates, for a minute or two, expression hidden both by distance and angle - and then with a casual air, pulls a knife out of her inventory, and stabs into the corner of the paper, effectively pinning it against the chest. (Xelqua does not jump, but he does flinch backwards slightly.)
The Player glances into the woodlands one last time - her eyes glazing over his hiding place.
And then she pulls out - a firework? And turns, and Xelqua nearly falls out of his hiding space in surprise, because upon her back? There are wings. Leathery and purple.
Is she a victim of the watchers as well? (Victim?) Or perhaps a hybrid, Grian has met a few of those in his time.
… He thought he was the only one - well, no, the Watchers had wings, and he is not a Player. But, hypothetically -
He didn’t think others… could fly. The Watchers certainly never liked to use their wings for anything more than simple transportation. But the Player pulls out a rocket, her wings straightening in a way that leaves his own aching in sympathy, and with a little hop and whee , the Player shoots off, passing over the red fortress.
She dips in the air halfway through, diving through one of the arches in a tower, and Xelqua has an urge to fly with her, to try and go further, to aim through a tighter gap and see if he can out-fly her. Outfly anyone, fly with someone -
But he is not a Player, and even if she has wings, even if Players aren’t much of a threat (though her vibes seem to say otherwise) he cannot engage with them. He’s meant to be unseen, and who knows what anyone with the wrong information could do. Who knows who could let slip of his presence, to the Watchers, and what they would do to get him back.
No, it is safer to remain hidden, even if he has this senseless urge to outdo someone in flight. (Even if, a rather quiet part of his mind whispers that he would quite like the company.)
There is still the matter of the chest she left behind, anyways.
… He shouldn’t go for it. The chest is almost certainly a trap, even if he didn’t see her place TNT underneath it.
He shouldn’t.
It would be really, really stupid.
…
He’s never had the strongest will against curiosity, though -
(“ - did you really have to press that button?”
“You know me, I have to press anything I see! A button unpressed is an opportunity missed, after all.”
A sigh. “You broke my farm, G-”)
And so, as night falls, Xelqua takes cover under the darkness once again, slinking down the hill, keeping to the treeline until the terrain makes way for something unnaturally flattened and deforested. The open doesn’t feel great - it allows for others to look, to see, and Xelqua’s skin feels like it is crawling.
No button left unpushed, indeed. The curiosity is enough to lure him out despite the anxiety, the fear, and before long he lands in front of the chest. It’s well built, with dovetail joints and a nice varnish.
First, the note. He pulls out the knife with one hand - a throwing knife, well balanced and its code whispering of being sharp enough to slice easily - and pulls the note off of its blade.
Hi, whoever you are,
I hope you’re okay… or, well, some hermit trying out a new arc. If you are, kudos on the style, I couldn’t even recognize you.
Or, if you aren’t a hermit, watch yourself. I don’t take kindly to those who threaten my friends’ safety.
Enjoy the bread.
- False
Oh. Hm.
In the chest is half a stack of bread, perfectly made and crisp to the touch. Its code whispers of baking in a furnace, of savory spices and the crumb being soft, glutenous, and chewy. It looks masterfully made, and delicious.
Xelqua stands in front of the gift for a long, long time.
(TangoTek -> ImpulseSV
Holy shit, i just saw it again
A fucking ghost????
A homeless ghost, from the looks of it
ImpulseSV -> TangoTek
Can’t believe youre judging ghosts, dude
Very uncool
I hope you get haunted
TangoTek -> ImpulseSV
well lucky for me, it seems to have disappeared before I could equip my elytra
ImpulseSV -> TangoTek
I’d think you’d be a lot more unsettled that you can’t see it…
that means it’s probably already inside :/
TangoTek -> ImpulseSV
what do yuo mean???
Impulse???
ImpulseSV -> TangoTek
:D
night, tango! Don’t let ghostie bite!)