Work Text:
[ARCHIVIST]:
Statement of Joel Smallishbeans, regarding multiple experiences in ‘Alternate Worlds’ over a few unnamed years of his life. Original statement given July 28th, 2025. Audio recording by Xisuma, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Hermitcraft.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest. I’m half convinced they’re hallucinations, of some sort. Or some weird, awful recurring nightmare while I drop into a coma for a couple of weeks.
I guess I should start from the beginning. I’m Joel. I just arrived in Hermitcraft, well, a couple of months ago, when they moved worlds. This has been happening… a lot longer than I’ve been here, but Empires didn’t have an Institute, so here I am instead.
It all started a couple of years ago. I passed out in my hardcore world for the night, but the next morning, when I woke up, I wasn’t greeted with the spruce boards of my ceiling. I just saw… a blinding light, which was the sun, and I was sitting in a circle of people. They all seemed to be just waking up, too, which makes me think they didn’t really know what was happening either.
I recognized some of them. Scott, whom I’ve known for ages. Grian, a man standing in a red sweater with ruffled brown hair. I had seen him in the occasional MCC, and the rest I had seen wandering around Hypixel or the server hub once in a while.
Grian, or who I assumed was Grian, stood and dusted off his pants, looking around, and I followed suit. I was standing on a stone slab, and around us stretched a new world, with sprawling terrain and different biomes everywhere I looked.
Someone cleared their throat, and I realized that we had been standing in silence, just shuffling in. Grian was holding his communicator, squinting at it, and he began to read from it after a tense silence.
“Welcome to Third Life. In this Game, you have been given three lives. When you’re on your green and yellow lives, you are a peaceful player. But, when you reach your red life, your Third Life, you become hostile, and your goal is to bring other players down to their red life.”
I’ve paraphrased, as I can’t remember exactly, but you get the idea.
Understandably, this announcement caused some worry among us all.
I mean, you’ve got to understand, hardcore is bad. You have to set up proper safeguards to make sure you don’t end up lost in the void if you die, and even then, it’s scary. I had my own hardcore server triple-checked for coding bugs, and I have a panic logout button in case of an emergency.
This? We had no idea.
There was some murmuring, and I pulled my own communicator up to examine the message. It was exactly as Grian had read it out, and I was about to stow it back away before I caught a flash of something in the screen’s reflection.
My eyes were green. I mean, not just a dulled, hazelly green. They were bright, neon green, and as I looked up to see the other players, they had green eyes too. Scott’s eyes are normally blue, but they were a violent green equal to my own, and he seemed to have some… crystals, floating around his head. It’s odd, but he’s an odd guy, so I deemed it unimportant at the moment and finally put away my communicator.
We all stood around for an odd moment before someone broke the silence. It was Jimmy. I hadn’t noticed him before, but I’ve been in a fair number of worlds with him before, and his blonde hair is fairly recognizable. He shrugged and piped up. “Well, if this is hardcore, shouldn’t we all… get going?”
People seemed to find no way to disagree, so we all split off. Since there was a good fourteen of us there, it was an odd start, and we bumbled in and out of earshot of each other as we explored the surrounding area and began collecting basic supplies. It was, well, nice to start up again with early game stuff. Sometimes the repetition of advanced worlds becomes boring.
Well, for me anyway.
There’s not all that much to explain about those early days. We hid from phantoms, made small bases, and met people along the way.
The first death came as a shock. I wasn’t there, but my comms buzzed frantically one night, and I looked to see that Scar, a scarred man with a massive smile and incredible comedic timing, had been killed in a creeper explosion.
I learned later that it was a failed prank by Grian, and I saw the two wandering around together for the rest of that Game. Whether a result of guilt or just friendship, I’m not sure.
Things didn’t really pick up until Jimmy died. I can’t even exactly remember how he did it; the lad hasn’t got a knack for keeping himself alive. But he died twice in a day, and when he respawned the third time, his eyes were a violent red, and something was a little wrong in his smile.
He had teamed up with Scott at that point, and I– Oh, I guess I should talk about that. It’s a bit embarrassing for me, really. We all ended up grouping off. Scott and Jimmy, Scar and Grian, Cleo and Bdubs, and a bunch of other people as well. I was kind of on my own, in a nice little house with a massive army of dogs. I told myself they were to keep me safe, but really, I think I just wanted the company.
Not that I didn’t have people stopping by, anyway. When Scar turned red, he kept coming back to my house, and god did that put me on edge.
There was something about the red players that made you uneasy. Maybe it was their rapidly graying skin, like Scar’s and Jimmy's. Or their blood red eyes. Or the fact that they didn’t seem quite themselves anymore. As if they were performing for something bigger.
I’m not sure, but it put me on edge, even if I knew that Jimmy wouldn’t harm a fly, regardless of how hard he tried.
Things started to really take off soon after. Ren, a nice guy but with a flair for the dramatics, had Martyn kill him, so he deliberately went red. They started a… war, of some kind, with Grian and Scar, and things got so much worse so fast.
That’s what got me killed for good, in the end. I wasn’t all that… active, that Game. I died once to a stupid minigame, and another time when Cleo burnt down my stupid roof. My last death, I was fighting with a couple of others when Ren managed to take me out.
That’s the thing about those games, too. I died fairly early on, but you don’t leave when you die.
I can remember it vividly. My heart was pounding, as well. It’s hardcore, and we didn’t know what would happen afterward. Ren’s sword slashed through me, and there was the CRACKLE of thunder I had heard when Jimmy died.
And then I was floating. Like… a ghost, above the battlefield where I had died.
I was overcome with relief at first, at not finding myself in the endless cold of the void.
Then, I was just overcome with grief.
My wolves still lingered where I had died, whining and whimpering, but no longer going after Ren. No more cause, I guess. I wish that I had been able to leave them food or lead them back home. I don’t blame the others for not doing it, though. They had bigger issues.
I had a lot of time to think as that Game ended. I watched it all– the battles, the deaths. Everything was wrong. People who started off as sweet and funny ended the game in a haze of bloodthirst and fury.
I think we entered that world as ourselves and came out as something else. And I don’t think we ever really returned to normal.
I still, sometimes, find myself longing to hunt. To join the wolf pack I was forced to leave behind. To fuel a bloodlust I no longer possess.
When the game finally ended, ringing with our chants for blood as Grian spiralled from the top of a sandy cliff, I thought it was over. Just a simple, nightmarish experience I could shove off. Maybe get some therapy, and like… take a breather. Spend time with Lizzie, you know?
I got three months. Then, I got to spend time with Lizzie after all.
I have to mention, though, that in those three months, things were… too normal.
I mean, I welcomed the peace and quiet, of course. But nobody talked about it. Sure, Scott was weird in Empires, but he’s weird regardless! And that was the whole ice magic thing, or something. But Jimmy… Jimmy didn’t even mention it. Not even a peep.
I caught the two of them avoiding each other, though. So I guess that’s potentially a hint I’m not going crazy after all. But, like, who knows!
Anyway, onto the second game. This one was… bad. Lizzie was there, for one, and I was so grateful to see her. If only I had known.
I went red early in that game. So early. But there was a good reason for that, and that was the Boogeyman curse.
If anything still haunts me from those games… it would be the curse. I didn’t care for it. Not in the slightest.
The Boogeyman curse. Every once in a while, we’d… go red. But we were still green, and I know that’s a little hard to– I guess what I’m trying to say is that we were cursed. The Boogeyman of that time would be worse than a red name. It was as if the red bloodlust had been dialled up to eleven. And it was somehow worse, too, because we couldn’t tell until some random green player had stabbed you in the back.
We had more lives, that Game. It didn’t matter in the end.
I went red early, like I said, because of that stupid curse. I was awful at killing people. Oh, I guess I have to explain. In order to get rid of the Boogeyman curse, you had to kill a player. And I sucked at it. After a few failed traps and attempts to stab my own wife in the back, I ended up on my final life.
After that, everything is a haze. I killed a lot of people, I know. I can still smell the iron, thick in the air, when I close my eyes. I died to an axe in my back, and woke up a ghost, still frenzied from the syrupy haze that adrenaline will boost you into.
I think Scott killed me. I know that he won, Ren taken out by a zombie of all things, and that Scott disappeared into whatever comes after final death in the Games.
And the third season. And then the fourth, and the fifth, the most recent one. They all blur together after that. There was one with clocks, and there was one where my heart was connected to another player’s, beating in time with their own. When they were injured in any way, you could feel it echoed onto yourself, wounds appearing to split open as they were cut into the other person’s body.
I was paired up with a man named Etho. We were a decent duo, but we died to an awful lava trap very late in the game. Pearl won that series, I guess.
Again, they all seem to meld together, interactions and deaths and kills mashing into the different games. In some, I die early, in others, I make it far, and I kill a lot of my friends.
There’s one other special thing that I carry into each world, which is why I struggle to remember much of them.
My bloodlust.
See, normally I’m a very chill guy. People would scoff at that, potentially, but I do think I am.
But when I turn red… or when I get that curse…
I don’t know. Something’s wrong with me. Something snaps as soon as red flashes across my screen. I’m suddenly searching, frantically, rabidly for a target. I have this animalistic urge to spill the coppery scent of blood into the crisp air of the arena.
It’s like I’m connected to the world around me, and everything fades away, and all I want to do is hunt. It’s awful and exhilarating at the same time, and it’s been the cause of many, many deaths at my hands.
It’s not like I can’t remember what happened, because I most certainly can. I remember sinking my axe into Lizzie’s skin once or twice, and I remember the sharp sting of string as I release arrows that bury into my former friend’s skin.
I remember it all, far too well.
And that bloodlust, that changes things in the next game.
See, before this, I had never won. We had sort of made up a little winners group in our heads for all the people who had won. Grian won the first game, Pearl the second, and Scott the third. Martyn won a game with a ticking clock that chimed inside all of us to warn us that our life was slipping through our fingers one grain at a time. Scar won a game where we had tasks whispered into our ears, and everyone acted a little bit strange.
I guess Scar’s good at being a little bit strange.
But I won the next one.
It was an odd premise. We had spawned in like usual, wishing each other well. By now, we were well accustomed to the start of this sort of thing. We all had a little sympathy for each other, knowing the death that was about to plague the lovely landscape like a disease.
So, long story short, every couple of days, a new modification would change the world. At one point, we could shrink and grow at random. I was the size of an ant while Lizzie towered over me, head above the leaves of the tree beside her, and we laughed about how I blended into the grass. Another time, there were robots that descended from the sky and asked us random trivia questions.
The big one, though? That was the snails.
I realize now I sound like I’m descending into delusion. You know what, maybe I am. And maybe that’s the best answer. But I’ll continue the statement anyway, because I came all the way here to do it.
So, there were snails. They looked a little like us. I had my own, with a brown shell and green markings, and little ogre ears to match my vest. It was cute until I saw the notifications on my communicator.
People were dying. And they were dying a lot.
You see, at this point, I like to think that all of us players are decent at these Games. Even the newer players, like Mumbo, Lizzie, and Gem, we all know well enough to steer clear of danger. But apparently, one brush against these snails meant losing your life.
Gem and I, who were teamed up together, managed to avoid our snails the entire time they were there. But the others weren’t so lucky. I think almost everyone died to them at least once. It was chaos.
And by the time the snails had left, people were red, and the rush began.
That’s generally how things go. People turn red, and the pace picks up, because now there are active players for you to look out for instead of the occasional random trap or mob army.
But when things picked up in this world, I mean that they took off.
The modifiers became so much more often, every hour or less, with some overlapping. The snails came and went again, and people died, falling into the world of ghosts like dominoes. I managed to live fairly long, and so did Gem, luckily.
Again, my head becomes fuzzy when we get to these parts of the games. I became red, and it was awesome.
I killed a bunch of people, I remember that. Cherry blossoms fluttered around me as I sank my sword into someone’s shoulder, and released arrow after arrow that whittled down my fellow players one at a time.
Finally, it was just me and Grian left, and I killed him easily.
Then, there was silence.
I had spent so much time in that red-fueled haze that the silence around me was almost painful. The sound of battle, coupled with screams, mobs, and the distant whisper of the ghosts, fell right into line along with the buzzing of my bloodlust, and everything had been so loud.
But now, I was alone, and there was silence.
I was worried, for a moment, that I had fallen victim to the void. I’ve heard horror stories ever since I was young of faulty hardcore worlds, and of players lost to an eternal darkness where they hang in stasis forever.
But then, something spoke to me.
Or, spoke is a strong word. It just… the words existed, and they came to me all at once.
You won.
It was a voice devoid of emotion and tone, and I was too startled to reply. It continued despite.
An interesting game.
Thank you for the entertainment.
All at once, I got this feeling that I was being watched. Like a million eyes were glaring from every corner of this hollow existence I was in, and spiders were crawling across every inch of my skin.
It was… it was bad.
And then, I blinked my eyes open to a harsh light, and I was back in Empires, as if nothing had changed.
But something had changed.
Every block I placed, I felt judged. Every time I stepped outside of my house, I could feel eyes skittering across my skin, watching every minuscule twitch of my fingers, every time I reached into my inventory.
I became a bit of a hermit around that time.
It was a massive switch, as well. I went from the hunter to the hunted. I imagine that’s how it must feel, being a deer and looking up to see the scope of a rifle pointed squarely at you. To know that you are being watched, and the second that you slip up, that you stop to graze–
I don’t know. But I don’t expect that it would be anything pleasant.
I’ve been feeling like this ever since. I moved into hermitcraft, but that feeling of being perceived almost seems stronger here.
But I understand things now.
Namely, the reason why Grian constantly speaks a little louder than he needs to. The nervous twitching of his wings, the way he flinches when you make eye contact.
I understand why Pearl fights so hard to do things oddly, to make unexpected movements and to make things as bright as possible in her base.
I understand why Scar laughs nervously in conversations, and I understand why he buries himself in his bases, building frantically under the cover of the tight nooks and crannies of his own construction.
I wonder how Martyn and Scott are doing. I suspect that it’s no better.
Whatever way we can all find to hide, I guess. I made a massive city of towering skyscrapers and neon signs, but I’m still not hidden in the reflective glass and glare of the overly bright lights.
I can still feel something watching me. In a city of concrete and cobblestone, I’m still a deer in the grass.
I can’t tell if it’s karma for everyone I’ve killed, or something far worse.
And honestly, I don’t want to know.
Realistically, the real reason I’m here, writing this statement, is because I suspect it’s going to happen again.
I’ve been feeling this… buzzing, recently. They’re watching a little closer. Sooner or later, we’re going to be pulled back into that pocket dimension, and we’re going to play a game. But this time, I doubt my goal will be to survive or to hunt.
I think it’s going to be to perform.
I can only hope that others are spared from this.
I’ve tried talking to Grian, of course I have, but he never looks me in the eye, and he’s awfully evasive. I think… I think being a winner for so long has changed him, at least a little bit.
I can only hope that Lizzie never wins a game of her own. I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.
In fact, as I write this now, I can feel their eyes cutting me open, picking apart my flesh. They’re tracing my penstrokes as they appear. They know everything.
They know you, too, now.
I can’t do anything about that.
The game calls me back, and that familiar rush of red is beckoning to me.
I can only hope that when I lose my final life again, I will no longer feel their eyes flaying me open.
I can only hope that when they come looking, I will be gone.
[ARCHIVIST]:
Statement ends.
[SIGH] Well, that’s a statement and a half. It does make sense, though. Or clear some things up. I guess I shouldn’t say that it makes sense, because it most definitely doesn’t.
I can personally confirm that there are periods of time where a large number of members of Hermitcraft go missing, unexplained. Any attempts to contact or locate them result only in error messages.
I can also confirm Joel’s mention of odd behaviours from other players.
Any record of hardcore servers with those modifications is either missing from the databases or has been deleted entirely. Or perhaps, they never existed. I have asked Zed to do some research on it, but I think he’s busy messing around with his own experiments. And, I asked Keralis, but he only told me not to worry so much.
I’m recording this in audio now, in late August, because Joel is back on the server. But he has just returned from a very, very long period of being away, along with many other players mentioned in this statement.
I’ll try and do more research. But until the next game, I can figure out nothing.
I can only hope that the watching eyes have finally faded.
End recording.
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