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The last few hours had been hell. Every nightmare that had plagued Grian for the past few days had accumulated into reality. Reality was cruel, harsh, and perhaps worse than the nightmares that had lingered in the back of his mind ever since that wretched day. Every time he closed his eyes a chorus of sizzling bangs pierced his mind’s eye. An array of painted reds and golds shifted into deep greys and blacks. That of smoke and death. What was worse than the abstract accumulation of explosives were the ear ringing screams. It was only Mumbo’s scream that he had heard when feeling the impact of the blow- all worldly senses stripped from him as he was forced to sit there choking- They were horrid, reverberating around him, echoing through the tower before something worse. Silence. They kept him awake at night. The sounds in of themselves had kept his eyes wide open, forcing him to gaze at the stone ceiling of the room that both he and Skizz slept in. The only difference between the long, perilous nights was the eventual inevitable absence of Skizz.
It haunted him, devilish and cruel, taunting. The miner had lost his way. It was taunting much like the seething, humorous, but all the same vile words that left Jimmy’s mouth when he trampled Mumbo’s grave, much too cocky for someone who knew death too well. It left Grian in a sickening spiral. Every dark spot in his vision looked too close to that of a figure he loved and knew. It tortured him, the nights spent up and days left blinking away visions of his partner; his fellow spanner. It left him to weep internally, bludgeoned with guilt that it was his own tower that had left his friend to such an inevitable fate. It was him that had told the uneducated man to ready each and every minecart whilst not having a clue about the dangers of the contraption he was dealing with. It left Grian sick. Through every confrontation with allies, to sour words with red names, the deep call from the very grave that he made beckoned him. It left him jittery and confused- angry and selfless. He had turned against those he cared for, even going so far as to snap at Skizz multiple times. The reminder of such only led him to more guilt after his death off of Grian’s tower as well.
He felt like a joke. He swore to the watchers above that they were laughing at him- forcing this upon him because he deserved it in some way. Perhaps karma for a life lived in the past or future, unbeknownst to him. A life where he and Mumbo flew. A life where Skizz lived only blocks away and none were subjected to war and tyranny.
The past few hours had been hell. Restless nights and wild cards thrown the members' way left Grian buzzing with a strength that not even he himself had come to understand. He wanted to say that he had manifested it for Mumbo’s sake. To make himself better. That was easily proven wrong though. The moment he saw Cleo waving her hands around, talking- giving orders to them.. He knew what the power was for. The tsunami of relief and regret that had washed over him all at once.. it was powerful. He needed to see him. He needed to see his love not tainted by the bramble he watched through nor shadows of foliage above.
It had felt like a miracle when he had finally found him in a field. Their embrace felt movie-like. It felt demolishing the way that he sobbed. It was as if a million life times of grief had been let out. And through it all.. he couldn’t exactly remember Mumbo doing the same. He couldn’t remember if the soft pat of his back was accompanied by an avalanche of suppressed emotions akin to his. He didn’t recall Mumbo’s voice breaking like his own did.
The biggest difference of them all, however, was the lightning. The lightning that Mumbo caused. The lightning that had been summoned by the watchers, striking him down and declaring him dead after a restless fight in water- taken down in his weakest, most vulnerable state. His sleep deprivation had caught up to him, proving his ears useless in their attempts to catch any little thing that Mumbo was spouting at him as he did it. As he betrayed him. All he could recall were the vicious, cold fingertips scratching at his arms, steadying him for not one or two- but three blows. By the fourth, he had been killed.
He had woken with a jolt, accompanied by the buzz of a yellow name.. and the hunger of a red’s. A ravenous, destructive force fed through his body, hot and ugly in his veins causing him to thrash through the doorway of his abode. He was sure that within his anger he had howled Mumbo’s name to the sky, a plethora of pain, ill will, and need for carnage. He was on a mission. He was to track down the traitor. He was to prove that Mumbo was Grian’s. Not Cleo’s. He had convinced himself that the watchers had adoned her with such powers just to spite him- to dangle the little humanity he had left in his body above his head all whilst he was chained to the ground, unable to reach it. His vindiction was ugly.
Grian stalked, not worrying about the many people he passed by on his way to the wooded area between a certain someone’s base and his own. His bloodlust reined thirsty and loud. The pure emotion of it was enough to drive him forward, to be confident and steady in every stride. An axe lay gripped in his right hand, each bend and curvature of the wooden handle being memorized by an adrenaline laced palm. It wasn’t long that he had stalked his prey before he caught sight of an innocent ripped suit arm making its way along- Along the very path he had known that Mumbo would be following. Steady voices in the distance were blocked out as Grian made a brash entrance, not burdened by the chance that Mumbo may see his approach. His mind was too far gone with the need to set him straight to think about silly things like stealth.
It was a crunch of leaves that gave him away- and perhaps word of the fates that Mumbo began to turn, a familiar spark accumulating in his eye that only illuminated when Grian was around. It felt insulting now. Such a spark had been tainted with the very blood stains lining his suit- Grian’s blood stains. The zombie didn’t have a chance to get a word in before both of them were tumbling to the ground. Grian’s pounce was heavy in the way that he drug Mumbo to the woodland floor, as if wishing to bury the corpse again. He panted heavily, eyes squinted and fierce. He almost missed the embarrassingly high pitched yelp he had tugged from Mumbo’s chest- an equally breathy one huffed out when he was shoved into the dirt. A deeper yell was let out when Grian clambered on top of him, making sure that every vantage point of Mumbo’s was flush against the ground. He seemed to have seen the shine of the diamond axe’s blade within the turmoil.
“Grian- Grian why- Hey, let’s talk about it,” He pleaded, voice going from panicked and quick to soft; sultry almost-.. almost manipulative. He used the tone of voice that only they used when alone on the bridges together. The tone that Mumbo had promised the world to Grian in. It only bribed more despair up nastily in Grian’s throat.
“Oh, we are going to talk about it. One word at a time.” He punctuated the sentence with a slow drag of the axe down Mumbo’s chest, slowly and tantalizingly pressing the blade down between ribs at the softest point below his sternum. It didn’t even break fabric, but it caused the man under him to fumble nonetheless.
“Grian!” He squealed, head hitting dirt as his legs scrambled to kick up leaves and debris around them. Nothing wrestled Grian off his perch, legs straddled around Mumbo’s waist tight like a lock. Finally when fearful eyes raced to Grian’s own, he saw disdain. It was an emotion that even when hidden behind fear, Mumbo would have never looked at Grian with. Gritting his teeth, Grian leaned forward and onto the blade, testing the limits of how the fabric of the man’s suit might tear. It caused a strangled noise to escape Mumbo; not one of actual pain, but simply distraught with the thought of it- of what one hunkered down bash to the back of the axe would mean. “Grian-“
“Mumbo.” Grian replied, the word laced with venom. Lips wobbling, said man’s brows furrowed as if in response. Perhaps too afraid to speak.
“I loved you. Didn’t you know that?..” Grian’s voice dialed down to a whisper. It was empty sounding, and surely the tone in which it was hissed gutted Mumbo’s heart more than Grian could ever do with the dull Axe. Nodding up and down, Mumbo exhaled with a trembling shake to his jaw.
“Yes- I… Loved?” He questioned, as if just now reconciling with the fact that it had been said in a past tense of sorts.
“You didn’t act like you were aware of it. You killed me in cold blood.” Grian leaned even closer, punctuating the word with a push down on the steady axe. His voice rained soft and almost nurturing against Mumbo. “Now I get to feel yours..”
It was a promised whisper, deep and warm. Mumbo’s head shook, legs once again jittering against the ground, lanky knees wobbling and bumping against Grian’s back as he leaned over Mumbo. With teary eyes and labored breathing, Mumbo’s restless hands came up to grasp at the head of the axe in which Grian had such a nice hold on.
“Grian, I- I still love you-“ It was a plea of desperacy; not truth. It left a sour taste on Grian’s tongue, forcing him only to growl further.
“You betray someone you truly care about? Is that what you do!? You tear them apart from the inside out!?” His voice was booming now, no longer laced with sweetness and drawn in a devilish whisper. Now, his rage had peaked through, shiny and bright much alike the blood Mumbo had once drawn from him. Closing his eyes, Mumbo shook his head. The words that followed came out in a choked, watery sounding sob.
“I’m sorry-“
“You’re not.” Grian snapped back, cutting him off as he snatched the axe from where it had been pressed against the man’s chest and reeled it back over his shoulder. Mumbo only saw a blinding gleam of light against metal before the earth next to his right ear was erupting with a metal shing. A scream from the heavens was bribed from his chest, full hearted and horrified in his thought to be death. The scream was much too familiar, and it forced a ping through Grian’s chest. It was only a few seconds of half wailed sobs and shaky heaves when the man realized he hadn’t been struck at all. Grian stared down at his love- his partner, his friend. His own cold, selfish emotion only tugged him further. For days he had been so sure that Mumbo had been dead. Dead, dead. Dead with the blame of Grian. Dead with the knownst that their bond couldn’t be broken. And now this? Stabbed and killed by the very man that had bribed so many horrid emotions from him- had kept him up for what felt like weeks on end? Mumbo would feel what he put Grian through.
Placing both hands on Mumbo’s chest, he ever so slowly worked upwards, soft in his demonstrations once again. It was a familiar ritual, one that had been performed in this exact position before. It left Mumbo’s arm hair to stand on end where he had Grian’s wrist in his shaky, pleading grasp. Grian allowed himself to feel every wrinkle and dirt speckled bit of suit jacket he was met with, inspecting the tears and imperfections that came with being alive again. What was life if stripped of love? He almost missed the way in which Mumbo looked up at him. His eyes were teared and stressed- but nevertheless soft. It was a look Grian would have received in the moment of something magical, of something deep and riddled with connection. It would have followed a soft call of his name and a kiss.. perhaps a hand feeling up Grian’s own body.. It turned his blood cold.
Fingertips tracing Mumbo’s collar bone where it peaked out from exposed layers, the man let out a shaky sigh. Grian despised his tranquility in the heated moment. He hated the look of trust in Mumbo’s eyes despite their roaring predicament, despite the tension and underlying promise of misfortune. It was an Inconsequential kind of look. Oh, there would be consequences. The trust in Grian’s own eyes had been shattered. So will the other’s. Mumbo’s breath drew short through the soft demonstration, familiar with the map that Grian had always drawn against him. Grian hated the familiarity of the situation. Something deep and soft in him desired to drop the act- to drop the harsh vengeance and truly bend over Mumbo, to lock lips. Brushing his palms across dirtied shoulders, Grian couldn’t quite make out what sand had been drilled into the fabric by him or the dirt in which Mumbo rose from.
With one last movement forwards, Grian settled with both hands trailing up Mumbo’s neck. The look that he received was one of suppressed desire. Whether he desired to tell Grian off or not, he didn’t know. Neither did he care. He only cared about softly running a thumb over Mumbo’s cheek, wiping the tear accumulated there away whilst leaning to meet foreheads with him.
“Grian..” The word met deaf ears as the blonde’s fingertips eased down and settled at last, soft around Mumbo’s throat. It was then that Mumbo tensed again, and he could just imagine the trust previously displayed in those teary eyes draining.
“You’re a traitor to me.” He began, thumb ever so softly running over Mumbo’s bobbing adam’s apple. Mumbo opened his mouth to object, and that is when Grian began to squeeze, cutting him off with a dry heave of surprise.
“Your actions speak louder than words can,” He resumed, unburdened by the way that Mumbo’s hand snaked up his thigh in a scratching manner. It wasn’t in gratitude or pleasure like it once was.. it was tainted, cold and pleading. He could feel a hum trapped in Mumbo’s windpipe, vibrating against his fingers. Perhaps a rebuttal? An apology begging to be let out? He squeezed a little tighter until it was extinguished.
“You meant everything to me. And you come back- come to me..” The anger was back, though quiet and simmering at the moment. “Taunt me with lies. Tell me that you are mine.”
He had taunted him just as the fates had. Just as the watchers had- all as a trap for he and Cleo’s twisted game. Whining, Mumbo’s legs shuffled, hips shaking underneath Grian with his attempt at some sort of leverage. Such a movement had been felt before, many weeks ago.. no promised demise attached. The memory lay faded, now, nothing but an ache in the back of Grian’s head. The blonde was an immovable stone against Mumbo’s struggles.
“And you kill me. In front of everyone.” His voice caught on a ledge of emotion as he finally opened his eyes, leaning back enough to inspect Mumbo’s expression. The man’s eyes were squinted gamely, nose whistling with the labor of trying to breathe through Grian’s grip.
“You kill me despite my lack of effort to do anything back.” He punctuated his seething word by pressing harshly against what he could only assume was bone or cartilage. Mumbo’s mouth fell agape, head slinging back as his spare hand slammed against Grian’s shoulder; a weak attempt to tug him off.
“I- khh-“
Grian only pushed harder at Mumbo’s trials to speak, silencing him. Grian didn’t miss the pained way in which his eyes closed, Mumbo’s forehead creasing with the force in which he tensed, unable to take in another breath. His misery only fed Grian’s bad mood. He never wanted to see his love like this.. The way in which Mumbo’s right hand clawed at his thigh, harsh and shaky, was ignored. Mumbo’s face was becoming red, very red.
“I did everything for you.”
His fingers flexed against supple, cool skin. It lacked life. It lacked Mumbo. Mumbo’s neck had always been his favourite.. The place where the softest kisses were laid- The place where he could whisper sweet nothings, just for them to hear- where he’d spoken each and every promise that had been broken by now. The neck he strangled wasn’t the same. It had been maimed by death. It had been maimed by Mumbo’s change of heart and body and clearly his feelings towards Grian! Grian hadn’t realized how hard he himself was breathing. All the same, he felt just as choked as Mumbo. He had so many things to say, yet no words to communicate them. Why? Why would the universe do this to him? Why would it degrade him to this!? Why would it bring Mumbo back only to torture him more- to rip open and pour salt over the aching wound that was trauma over his boyfriend’s death? Hands shaking, Grian pushed hard, fingers embedding themselves deep into sensitive, red, and ignited flesh. Finally, Mumbo gained some fight, soft whimpers becoming choked gasps, harsh and violent as his limp hands turned into beating fists. Feet stamped at the ground as what was once held at bay became loud, undignified noises.
“I trusted you- I loved you so much- do you understand what I did for you!?” The words were less to Mumbo and more to the entire forest. The forest they had once pranced through, exhilarated by their win- enthralled by Mumbo’s play. He vividly remembered patting the man on the back, showering the other’s scrunched face with victorious pecks and kisses. Another life in their hands, another chance at survival. It had been what gave them life. Not anymore. This was survival. This was not living. Grian’s arms went limp, panicked digits ripping them from bruised skin. Mumbo had always been easily bruised. They used to joke about it. Where had that one come about? Both laughed, neither knowing or caring- just another spot that Grian could lay a caring kiss to.
Mumbo’s entire body convulsed under righteous coughing and sputtering. It was as if Mumbo’s soul had been tugged out of his body for just a millisecond then shoved back in crooked. Sobbing crackles filled Mumbo’s every inhale, loud and broken sounding. Grian had crushed his windpipe. Every movement looked excruciating, yet Mumbo still made an effort to look at him with those solemn, clouded eyes. Sputtering just a little more, he tried clearing his throat, though such was harsh and left tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I h-hd to..” He whistled, hollow and pained, eyes only opening fully when the blonde’s hands wrapped back around his neck. Hissing, he moved away from the touch, eyes so desperate. Grian had seen the look before. He had seen the deep regret and sorrow and fear. He had seen it in his own eyes, more recently than ever.
“All you had to do was love me back.” Grian squeezed down hard, bribing a screamed wail from Mumbo. His entire body resumed its fight. Grian watched as cool skin became cooler- he watched as Mumbo fought to open his mouth, to plead more- to say anything that might fix whatever had torn them asunder. Played by the universe and left with nothing but bloodied hands, Grian anchored down, growling out as he jerked his arms forwards and back, watching as the fight drained from Mumbo’s limbs.. slowly until he was racking nothing but a lifeless skull against the foliage littered ground. Cool hands had departed from his clothes. The last piece of contact being the lifeless, flaccid hand against Grian’s leg.
Panting, Grian screamed into the woods, loud and wailing. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t curse the world or Mumbo or himself enough to reconcile with the burning feeling in his chest. Falling limp against his boyfriend, his trembling fingers eased from the man’s neck down to his suit. Grian couldn’t remember when he began sobbing, but he did, ugly and loud. He howled into the fabric of Mumbo’s dress shirt, body worn and frail. Under his breath, all the blonde could do was mumble the word traitor, each syllable becoming lighter until he was left breathless.