Chapter Text
It had been hours since they arrived at Doc’s base. Martyn and Pearl had done their best to explain everything but he knew their words were useless to the situation.
Now, Martyn sat slumped against the wall, his head tilted back, staring blankly at the ceiling. His fists rested heavily on his knees, fingers curling and uncurling as if searching for something to hold onto. The faint rise and fall of Jimmy’s snores broke the stillness, along with the occasional wet smack of drool hitting Martyn’s shoulder. His nose wrinkled in disgust, but he didn’t move. Jimmy needed the rest, even if it meant Martyn enduring the unpleasantness.
His gaze drifted across the room to Big B, lying unconscious on the makeshift bed. Doc had replaced his usual table with the cot earlier, offering it without a second thought. It had been a surprisingly kind gesture, especially for someone who didn’t even know Big B.
Martyn’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “kind” wasn’t the word he’d have expected to associate with a creeper hybrid, but here they were.
Unlike the others, Martyn and Big B didn’t know the Hermits, not really. Sure, they knew names and reputations, but they hadn’t lived in their worlds. They were outsiders unlike all the other members of the death games. Martyn had heard plenty from his friends, though—stories of the portal connecting Hermitcraft and Empires.
His lips twitched into a brief, wry smile as his mind flicked to Skizz. Along with the angelic man, Big B and Martyn weren’t on either empires or hermitcraft as well. But Skizz was an honorary Hermit, Martyn knew that. Honestly he wouldn’t even be surprised if Skizz ended up part of Hermitcraft’s season 10 roster.
The thought brought the briefest flicker of amusement before reality crashed back down.
With a quiet sigh, Martyn lowered his head, his tired eyes lingering on Big B’s still form. His chest tightened. The room felt too quiet.
Martyn let his head thunk lightly against the wall again, the dull impact grounding him for a fleeting moment. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, hoping for the release of sleep. But no matter how much he willed it, his gaze kept drifting back to Big B.
Across the room, Pearl and Ren sat close to the unconscious man, their worry etched in every movement. Pearl had gently rested her head against Big B’s stomach, her hand curled protectively around his.
Ren was perched near Big B’s head, his fingers gently ruffling through the man’s curls. It was an oddly soothing motion and Martyn could tell the wolf hybrid was doing so with care. His other hand grasped Big B’s free hand firmly.
Ren’s voice filled the quiet air, soft and steady, as he spoke directly into Big B’s ear. Martyn couldn’t make out the words, but they carried an unshakable warmth—enough to pull quiet, fleeting chuckles from Pearl. Despite the tension in the room, her laughter was a fragile thing, barely there but still present.
Martyn’s chest tightened as he watched them. He couldn’t bring himself to join them. Instead, he leaned back again, exhaling slowly through his nose.
His mind wandered back to Doc and Cub. Their words played on a loop in Martyn’s head, both comforting and maddening.
“Big B just needs rest,” Doc had said, his voice firm with conviction. Martyn had wanted to believe him, to take the words as fact, but doubt had clung to him.
While Doc spoke, Cub remained silent, his sharp eyes flitting between Big B and Doc with a look that made his skin crawl. Martyn couldn’t help but notice how Cub’s glances lingered on Big B, like the man was piecing together a puzzle no one else could see.
Martyn’s eyes narrowed, scanning the room until they landed on the vex hybrid. From across the room, Doc was speaking with Cub in low tones, their conversation deliberately separate from the rest of them. Martyn frowned. He knew enough to guess that Cub didn’t think highly of Grian. Cub’s dislike of him was no secret, and Martyn could only guess why. He’d heard enough to know Scar's disappearance likely had something to do with it—their bond clear even to an outsider like Martyn. Eventually, the pair excused themselves, Doc explaining they’d return soon.
Martyn’s gaze lingered on the stairs after they left. He exhaled through his nose, frustration coiling in his chest. The past few days had been a blur of chaos, rushing by too quickly for him to fully process. Everything was going by fast and unexpected. Unexpected like Evo.
“Has anyone heard back from G?” Martyn blurted out with an annoyed gruff, pushing his thoughts away.
Jimmy stirred against his shoulder with a faint, sleepy hum but didn’t wake fully. Ren’s voice faltered mid-sentence, his soft gaze lifting from Big B to meet Martyn’s. There was warmth in those eyes, even in their worry.
Pearl straightened, her head lifting from where it had rested on Big B’s stomach. Her eyes narrowed, meeting Martyn’s. She held his gaze for a few long, unflinching seconds before looking down at Big B’s hands, still clasped gently under her own.
“Mumbo’s dealing with it,” she said, and Martyn was sure there was bitterness laced to it.
Martyn’s brows knitted together, his lips parting as a sharp retort formed on his tongue. But before he could get a word out, the doors slammed open with a resounding crack.
The noise startled them all. Martyn’s head snapped toward the sound. Everyone else did the same, their gazes shifting in unison toward the source of the commotion.
“Skizz, Gem, wait!” Martyn heard Impulse’s voice in the distance, breathless and laced with panic.
In the doorway stood a tall, familiar figure, gripping both sides of the frame as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. Behind him stretched large, familiar wings, slightly drooped with exhaustion.
Martyn shot to his feet, already moving toward the door.
“Who—?!” Skizz gasped, his breath coming in frantic bursts, his wide eyes darting around the room as though trying to take in everything at once.
“Woah, dude! What’s going on?” Ren asked, rising to his feet with concern etched across his face.
Skizz didn’t answer, still gulping down air like he’d been running for his life. Gem darted in suddenly, sliding under Skizz’s arm to plant herself firmly in front of him. “Who passed out?!” she blurted, equally winded, her gaze flicking between Martyn and the others.
Martyn’s stomach sank, his pulse quickening. “How the bloody hell did you find that out?!” His voice cracked as he spat.
Gem and Skizz exchanged a quick glance before Gem turned back to him, her expression tight. “Word gets around fast,” she said simply.
Before Martyn could respond, Impulse stumbled inside, looking like he was barely holding himself together. He was panting heavily, one hand braced on his knee while the other clutched at his chest.
“Tango,” he wheezed, his words clipped between gulps of air. “Tango—he’s a loud mouth—”
“Not the point!” Skizz interrupted, shoving past Gem with a forceful urgency. His wide, searching eyes locked onto Martyn as he pushed out a frantic question. “Who’s hurt? Is G okay—”
Skizz froze mid-sentence. His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something—or someone. His entire body stiffened, the color draining from his face as he stared across the room.
Martyn followed his line of sight, confusion knotting in his chest until the realization hit him.
“Boppers?”
Skizz whispered, the name freezing in his throat, eyes going wide.
Martyn hadn’t noticed Pearl move from her spot until she was already by Gem’s side, gripping her arm. "Gem, you shouldn’t be here..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Gem didn’t look at her. Her eyes were fixed on Big B, her jaw set. "Pearl, no. What’s wrong—" The words started but faltered when her gaze finally met Pearl’s.
The softness that softened Gem’s features was something Martyn didn’t expect to see. Gem’s hands lifted, trembling, to cup Pearl’s face. The quiet murmurs between them blurred into the background as Skizz rushed past Martyn.
“Skizz, wait—” Impulse protested, but before he could take a step, Martyn’s hand shot out, catching his arm.
Impulse looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Martyn didn’t say anything. He just shook his head, the unspoken words heavy in the space between them. They locked eyes for a beat longer before both turned their gaze toward Skizz.
Ren stood on the other side of the bed, his gaze sharp and full of worry for the angel. Skizz could feel stares pressing on him, but he refused to look away from his friend below him. His blue night eyes drifted from Big B’s face to his chest, still and unmoving, then down to his hands. They looked lifeless, like they belonged to someone who wasn’t here. An emptiness tugged at Skizz, a slow, aching realization that made his chest tighten.
A shaky breath escaped him, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His fingers reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, until they rested lightly against Big B’s still hand. For a moment, he just stayed like that, as if waiting for the connection to spark something—anything. When it didn’t, he gave a tentative squeeze, the pressure soft but steady.
His other hand trembled slightly as it reached for the top of Big B’s head. It was quiet around him—eerily so. The usual Skizz would’ve broken the silence with questions, with jokes, with the reassurance that Big B was a fighter, that he would pull through. But here, now, he was still. His breath was shallow, his movements slow and deliberate.
Skizz didn’t speak. He wasn’t asking anything anymore. His mind was somewhere distant, somewhere hope wasn’t. His fingers pressed against Big B’s scalp and he continued to stare at Big B. Martyn was wondering which one of the two was really the unconscious one at this rate. The Skizz Martyn knew would never let hope slip so easily.
But this wasn’t that Skizz.
This Skizz was silent. This Skizz was staring down at Big B as if the world was crumbling beneath his feet.
There shouldn’t have been tears gliding silently down his cheeks. There shouldn’t have been that fading glimmer of hope in his eyes. He hadn’t realized how close the two had become during secret life.
Martyn swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. If Skizz, of all people, had no hope left, then what did that mean for the rest of them?
Martyn stood quietly, his face set, unreadable. His gaze was fixed on the scene before him, jaw tight, brow furrowed.
From the corner of his eye, Martyn caught Ren’s gaze. The wolf hybrid had been watching Skizz just as intently, but now his face mirrored the same raw despair that Martyn had been fighting to suppress.
Ren looked lost, like he didn’t know how to find the words to comfort Skizz.
And that sight alone made Martyn’s stomach twist. It was an expression he never wanted to see again. He’d seen it during the first games and the third.
“What the heck is going on?!” A thick accent cut through the room, jolting everyone as Doc stormed down the stairs, his wide eyes darting from one person to the next. His gaze locked onto the crowd gathered around Big B, his confusion quickly hardening. “Out! Everyone, out!”
Impulse’s gaze flicked from Doc to Skizz, his voice a quiet protest. “But—”
“Out!” Doc barked, his frustration evident. He started shooing everyone out of the room with force, pushing them back, his hands smacking into shoulders and arms as he ushered them away—except for Ren, Skizz, and Pearl.
Martyn caught a glimpse of Pearl as he was being shoved out. She stood by Gem, her eyes locked with the smaller girl's. A fragile smile curved Pearl’s lips, weak but genuine, before she kissed Gem’s hand gently. Martyn couldn’t hear exactly what she whispered, but he saw her lips form the word “Go.” Gem’s face contorted, her expression torn, but she didn’t argue. Impulse was already pulling her away, guiding her toward the door.
Just before Doc could slam the door shut, Martyn saw Pearl make her way back to Big B and gently her hand press against Skizz’s back. She leaned in, whispering something, and Skizz, still so quiet, didn’t pull away.
Ren’s soft eyes met Martyn’s for a brief moment, and something in Martyn’s chest tightened. Ren’s gaze was full of warmth, full of trust—trust that Martyn would do something. Fix it.
Martyn held his breath, lingering in that last moment of eye contact, the silence stretching until the door finally closed, putting what felt like miles of distance between him and Ren’s gaze.
And then, standing squarely in his line of sight, was Doc. And Doc wasn’t happy. “What in the world do you think you all are doing?! Scheiße! Ich gehe, um mit Cub zu sprechen, und es wird zu einem Irrenhaus!” He ranted, pacing around the front of his base, hands in the air.
“We tried to stop them, Doc!”
Martyn’s brow furrowed. Cleo? When had she even arrived? His mind raced, trying to catch up. He spun around, his eyes scanning the room and his stomach twisted at the small crowd there was.
Jimmy’s loud voice broke through the haze. “Guys, what happened? How did you know about B?”
Martyn blinked, realizing he hadn’t even noticed Jimmy standing near Cleo and Scott. He had forgotten that he more than likely woke the man up.
Jimmy’s question only spiraled into more confusion.
“Wait, B is the one hurt?!” Cleo gasped, her voice rising in disbelief.
“Yeah! He’s passed out—what happened?!” Gem’s voice was full of panic, the sharpness of it making Martyn’s heart race. Well, there goes that softness between her and Pearl.
Martyn opened his mouth before he could stop himself. “How did you even find out in the first place?!”
A sheep hybrid let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “It was Tango! He overheard me and False talking to Mumbo about the message Pearl sent us!”
“ZED!” Tango snapped from beside him.
Oh, so that’s Zedaph. Martyn’s mind briefly flickered with the realization. Zedaph and False were the Hermitcraft members watching over Mumbo and Tango. That made sense… sort of.
Cleo, who had been standing off to the side, put a hand on her hip and scoffed. “Zed, Tango was the one who slipped from your grasp, you dill!” She exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed. Her gaze turned toward Doc, and she continued with an exasperated sigh, “Tango’s the one who informed us all about someone passing out.”
Tango crossed his arms over his chest “No,” he muttered, turning his head to look away. His eyes rolled, a look of annoyance flaring across his face as he tried to argue his way out of it.
Scott’s voice cut through the noise next, his tone light but with a teasing edge. “Cleo and Impulse couldn’t exactly stop Skizz and Gem from running off to Doc’s base after that,” he chimed in, a chuckle barely held back behind the words.
Of course, the loud arguing began. Voices overlapped each other, rising and falling in a cacophony of frustration and confusion. Martyn felt a headache pounding in his skull, the noise pressing in on him from every side. His own voice got lost in the chaos, swallowed up by the clamor of everyone else. It was impossible to make out anything clearly, let alone focus on his own words.
“Guys, stop!” Jimmy shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. But his plea was swallowed up by the noise. No one seemed to notice, or care, as the voices continued to blur together.
And then as if someone answered Jimmy’s pleas, everyone stopped arguing. Of course, Jimmy more than likely wished they didn’t now.
A fiery burst exploded into the air, bright and scorching, forcing everyone to stagger back with startled shrieks. Heat radiated from Tango, his hair ablaze with flames that licked upward, growing wilder by the second. His chest heaved as he glared at everyone.
“THIS ISN’T FAIR!” he shouted, his flames flaring brighter and hotter.
Martyn knew that look. He’d seen it before, though thankfully only once. Those red eyes, burning with pure anger, the way his chest heaved as he took deep, violent breaths. The flames surrounding him were no longer a flicker, radiating heat from his hair and hands, which were clenched into fists at his sides.
Martyn swallowed hard. The memory of the last time he’d witnessed this side of Tango winked in his mind, the image of Jimmy holding him back as the ranch burnt to the ground. Oh, the third game certainly was a time.
Tango huffed again, the sound low and dangerous, before he took a deliberate step forward. Martyn frowned, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see someone standing behind him. Oh. The space behind him was empty.
His stomach twisted. Oh no.
Tango yanked the front of Martyn’s shirt forward, “YOU!”
Martyn staggered back a step, eyes wide, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden aggression. “Me?!” he yelped, his voice rising higher than he intended. “What the bloody hell did I do?!”
Tango’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as he seethed. “How come we have to sit back and do nothing because we’re in so-called ‘danger’ from the Watchers,” he spat. He let go of Martyn’s shirt only to throw his hands up, fingers slicing through the air as he made angry gestures. “But you five can do whatever the hell you want?!”
Tango’s arms slammed down at his sides before he stomped forward again, each step heavier than the last. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum, but with the heat of the fire crackling around him.
Martyn’s chest heaved, the rapid breath doing little to calm his racing heart. He stared into Tango’s fiery eyes, “Well, obviously, the five of us are the only ones doing something because we’re the ones who know the most! We’re the ones who know what we’re doing!” The words left his mouth before he could fully process them.
Tango’s flames flared, turning blue at the tips, and a chill ran down Martyn’s spine.
“Oh yeah?!” Tango hissed, his voice turning sharper, almost mocking. There was a wet chuckle mixed in. “And that’s really working out great for you, isn’t it?! What’s wrong with Big B, Martyn, huh? Where’s Grian at?!” His words came faster and faster just as his steps.
Martyn took another step back. The closer Tango got, the hotter the air around them felt.
Where were the others? Martyn’s eyes darted up, searching past the searing wall of flames. For a split second, he caught sight of Jimmy struggling in Scott’s grip. The canary flailed, his voice drowned out by the roar of the fire, but Scott’s sharp glare cut through the chaos, locking onto Martyn.
Scott didn’t need words. He never did. Somehow, Scott always had this strange, unexplainable connection to people—one Martyn could never quite wrap his head around. The icy intensity of his stare spoke volumes, louder than any argument Jimmy could muster in his thrashing attempts to break free.
The rest of the group wasn’t faring much better. Others tried to move toward them, to intervene, but they were quickly driven back, stumbling away from the searing heat. No one could get close enough.
Taking a deep breath, Martyn froze. “Tango, dude! You need to chill out!” His words were firm, though he knew, deep down, he was the only one Tango could really hear right now.
Tango’s response was immediate. “NO!” His voice broke through the flames, louder than before. “You aren’t sending me back there to be useless, Martyn!”
“VOID TANGO, WILL YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?!” Martyn planted his feet, refusing to flinch as Tango’s fire snapped dangerously close. “We can talk about this when you aren’t about to set everything on fire! Are you even thinking?! You could burn down Doc’s base—and guess who’s inside that?! AN UNCONSCIOUS BIG B, WHO WE DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH!”
Tango stopped, his fire stuttering, flickering lower for a moment, but Martyn barely had time to process the relief before a streak of movement blurred past him.
Impulse.
Martyn’s breath caught as the man dove straight through the flames, his figure barely visible in the flaming madness. Impulse collided with Tango, tackling the blaze-born to the ground.
“Impulse, are you a bloody IDIOT?!” Martyn shouted, his voice cracking as he stumbled back. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He lunged instinctively, his hand outstretched to pull Impulse away from the burning chaos, but a firm grip on his arm yanked him back.
“Relax,” Cleo’s voice cut in from beside him. She kept her gaze on the writhing figures on the ground, her grip unyielding. “We found a fire resistance potion in Doc’s stash.”
Martyn blinked at her, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, glanced back at Impulse, his eyes catching the faint shimmer of orange bubbles rippling around the man like a protective shield. Heat radiated from the blaze-born, wild and relentless, yet Impulse held him steady, his grip firm but gentle. Sweat beaded along Martyn’s brow, not from exertion but from the searing heat. He edged backward instinctively, his arm brushing against Cleo’s as they both retreated a step further back.
Impulse murmured something—low, steady, words drowned by the crackling roar of Tango’s flames. Whatever it was, it worked. The fire had dimmed as quick as it started.
Tango sagged against Impulse, his shoulders dragging him low as if the fire had drained every ounce of strength from him. Martyn’s breath came in shallow gulps, his chest tight. He didn’t fully see what Impulse had done, but at that moment, he didn’t care. The fire was gone. That was enough.
No one spoke. The silence pressed down like the aftermath of a storm, broken only by the quiet scrape of Jimmy shifting in Scott’s hold. Martyn caught the flash of a grimace on Jimmy’s face as he jerked free and slid to the floor, landing with a soft thud. Scott let him go without protest.
“Tango!” Jimmy rasped, his voice hoarse but urgent, breaking the fragile stillness.
Tango’s breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, his chest heavy as he pushed Impulse away and staggered backward. Before he could make another move, Jimmy lunged forward, locking him in a fierce, unyielding hug. The canary’s arms wrapped around Tango, warm and insistent, refusing to let go. Tango stiffened, his gaze fixed on the ground, unfocused and distant.
Martyn could see the way Tango’s fingers twitched as though itching to shove Jimmy away and bolt. But he didn’t. Instead, Tango let out a shaky exhale, his shoulders trembling before slumping in defeat. He closed his eyes, his forehead dipping onto Jimmy’s shoulder as though it weighed too much to hold up anymore. His face disappeared into the crook of Jimmy’s neck, and he stayed there, drawing in long, measured breaths. Whether he was hiding out of exhaustion, embarrassment, or simply trying to smother the remnants of his anger, Martyn couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all of it. Maybe none of it.
Tango’s stillness was unnerving, but Martyn didn’t dwell on it for long. He shifted his focus to someone he could read—Scott.
Scott’s eyes were locked on the ranchers, his expression carved from stone, though cracks of bitterness seeped through. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his shoulders stiffened as if trying to hold back something heavier than words. The bitterness burned brightest in his gaze, but Martyn could see the hurt radiating off of his mean gil buddy.
Scott scoffed under his breath, a soft, hollow sound, and turned away, the lines of his face hardening as he hid from view. Martyn made a mental note. He’d have to check on him later.
“Jeez,” Gem muttered, her voice low as she placed a hand on her hip. “Well, that was dramatic.”
Zed shot her a sharp glare, stepping forward just enough to nudge her shoulder. She stumbled slightly but caught herself, giving him a half scowl in return.
Martyn’s frown deepened as his gaze flicked over Gem and Zed. Their clothes were streaked with faint smudges of ash—just like his own. He brushed at his sleeve absentmindedly, but the dark streaks didn’t fade. Everyone had some except for Jimmy and Scott because they were far enough away.
Impulse groaned softly as he straightened, rolling his shoulder before reaching an arm out to steady himself. Doc stood a few paces away, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, letting out a sharp huff.
“I don’t have time for this,” Doc muttered, his voice rough with irritation. He turned abruptly and stalked toward the door, yanking it open before disappearing inside. The heavy slam echoed behind him.
Martyn barely had time to process the noise before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“So,” Cleo said. “What’s wrong with Big B?”
Martyn tensed under her touch. He didn’t turn to face her, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. “Just… stuff happened. He’s fine,” he muttered as he remembered what he blurted out loud earlier on. He hoped no one had heard him through the flames.
“Is he?” Cleo scoffed as she stepped around him, her brow arching. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, and her narrowed eyes at him. “Because he didn’t seem fine to me.”
“He’s fine,” Martyn snapped, his voice rising slightly. His hand shot up to swat hers away, the motion jerky and impatient. Without another word, he pushed past her, his steps quick and deliberate.
“No!” Gem’s voice rang out. She stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop short. Her chin lifted, “Tango had a point. You need us.”
Martyn’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his eyes swept over the group. “Are you kidding me?” he hissed. “We don’t need you. We don’t need any of you!”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He barely noticed the way everyone flinched, their eyes widening with shock or narrowing in hurt.
“Martyn…” Jimmy’s voice broke the silence, a quiet warning laced with concern.
Martyn ignored him. Instead, a bitter laugh escaped his lips, rising unevenly like a fraying rope about to snap. “Nothing you can do will EVER make a difference!” he barked, the laughter breaking off into jagged breaths. His hands raked through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends as his chest pained.
None of them could help. Not against the Watchers. The thoughts thrashing in his head, louder than the voices around him. He wanted to scream, to tear apart the air with every fear clawing at his insides. He wanted to shout that Scar was never coming home. That Big B might never wake up. That Grian had cowardly ran from his mistake, and the Watchers—those damned, haunting Watchers—hadn’t made a single peep since Big B collapsed, only silent.
He wanted to cry. To let the tears fall unchecked, to break apart in front of them so they could see how fractured he really was.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Martyn’s voice dropped, cold and brittle, barely masking the cracks beneath. “You’re all useless.”
His glare swept over them, harsh and unforgiving, before he turned on his heel and stormed off toward Doc’s base.
A few voices rose behind him, soft protests mingled with angry retorts, but Martyn didn’t stop. He didn’t care. The anger boiling in his chest burned too brightly, drowning out everything else. He clenched his fists at his sides, his footsteps heavy as he put as much distance as he could between himself and the others. A pang of guilt reached him as he began to process what he’d just said, but he refused to look back. He couldn’t.
As his hand reached for the doorknob, he froze.
A sharp, high-pitched ringing filled his ears, sudden and disorienting. His eyes widened as the sound grew louder, drowning out everything else. His pulse pounded in his skull, erratic and deafening.
Why are my ears ringing?
The thought barely formed before a new sensation hit him—voices. Screaming. Someone was screaming. No, not just one voice. Multiple.
Why is everyone screaming?
A shiver ran down his spine as realization dawned. His chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths. His lips parted slightly.
Oh.
He was screaming.
His hand trembled as it lifted to his ear, fingertips brushing against something warm and wet. He pulled his hand back slowly, and his stomach twisted at the sight of crimson streaks glistening against his skin.
Blood?
The screams abruptly cut off, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake. Martyn’s breath hitched. His mouth was still open, but no sound came. The world around him felt distant, blurred at the edges.
Wasn’t I screaming?
The thought slipped away as his legs buckled. Darkness crept in, swallowing his vision until there was nothing left.