Death and Life watch in awe and trepidation as a figure sits up out of the strange pyre, birthed of flames and blood, blinking dazedly and swaying slightly. As the creature tries to stand and falls like a newborn deer Death lets out an involuntary coo, and both Foolish and the new creature turn and look at her. Foolish is sure his confusion and concern is showing on his face, but she and this new….creation are locked in a staring match. While they’re focused on each other, he takes a moment to breathe.
It worked (he believes), it didn’t burn anything down (he thinks) and nothing went horribly wrong (he...hopes) so everything is ok. It’s gonna be alright, he tells himself. Then the creature lets out a low, thundering growl as Death slowly moves closer, and he’s very unsure all of a sudden.
The following few days are spent monitoring Death and her new… brother companion. They get along absurdly well, despite the newcomer’s prickly personality and defensive nature. Likely due to their shared soul pieces, Foolish debates. Twin Flames, he thinks distastefully as he watches them aggressively wrestle for the third time in two hours. He’d leave them to it, but he doesn’t trust this...thing. It’s too strong, too dangerous, too unknown and frankly far too close to her. He stops forcefully encouraging moss to overgrow the rock he’s sitting on and take him with it and looks at the pair. They’re both laying face up on the ground, heads turned to each other and talking lowly in a language he used to know but has since passed on to others. To them.
He’s suddenly grateful that Death did not take any creatures from his ocean to put in the pile, which lets him still have the talk of the wild in some capacity. No one else speaks the sounds of the ocean, and he’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. He sits on his rock, leg bouncing and fingers drumming as he watches Death gesture wildly as she twitters on only for the creature to laugh and shove at her harshly, sending her rolling away a few feet before she stops. They both dissolve into snorting laughter and Foolish’s eye twitches. He stands up quickly, brushes himself off, and walks closer to the pair before turning and addressing Death.
“I’m getting back to work. Help them get situated. I’ll see you soon.” She sat up and watched him with a look of concern and confusion as he stormed almost literally out of the clearing, clouds forming and darkening overhead, threatening rain. What they do after, frankly, is not Foolish’s concern. If things go wrong, he can fix them. That’s what he does.
For the next few decades, he is decidedly not sulking. He is just busy. Very far away. On his personal secret projects no one else is involved with, deep on the ocean floor, where no one except him is able to withstand the pressure and cold.
He isn’t stupid, he is still fulfilling his duties that he holds that affect the land. He’s just doing it passively, subconsciously, so he doesn’t worry about it. He isn’t watching.
H̡̪͆̅e̲̙̱͚͋̀̕'͈̣͓̍̆̓s̘̊ ̼́̎͟n̞̐o̫̙̭̊̆̓t͔̠̙͙͐̌͊͋ ̻̭̑̚w̹̗͂͞ă̠̼̫͎͂̚͠t͈̫̹̄͌̿c̮̞̽̓h̙̮̦̿́͠ï̧̦͓̬̈́͡͡n̜̂ģ̣̟̈̾̕.̖͇̜̎͐ The code is strong. The code has held up for worlds and realms and countless players. The code created the gods. But, on occasion, there a̡̡̱͒͠r̠̭̲̂̐̃ȩ̖͑ - wait what? Hey, what̩̎'̞̽s̫̄ ̻͋g̲͌ọ̌i͔̭̋̐ň̘͔̪̣͊͊ḡ̗̩͌ ̜͎̜̤̄͂̋̕͢͠ơ̛̫̦̩̙͈̈́̎͠n̗̮̯͉͕̿̅̂̒͠?̧̮̝̟̒̈̿͜͡͝
C̨̰̯̝̜͕̦̖̬͌͗̄̉̔̃͗͘̚'̧̡̢͈̘̗̜͚͇̖̬̳͛͋̓͒̀̄̑̆̏̋͘͟mo̼͞n,̱͙̏̈́͢͞ ̧̧̧̝͕̗͎͎̻͖̞̮̱̘̐̐͑́̅̈͆̈̒̿͒́̇͊̚͜͜y̡̖͈̺̙̫̫͇͂̄̂̈͌͆̆̏͋ͅo͙̾͌̿͟͟ǘ̯̫̒ ̙͒ṣ̣͇̟̤͉͍̳͇̖̉̈̔̽̈͒͋̂̕͜͢͡͞͝t̮͕̏͜͝u̱̅̓͢b̞̺͈̥̗̱̼̼̖͇̲̎̈́̑̆̉̆̍̌̕͘͠b̡̝̬̟̻̜̩̺̤̠͇͚͇̹͉̳̿̈̔̽͐͂̅̄̔̽͘͞͞͠o̡̧̢̺̻̩̤̦̭̥̙͈̜͛͒̐̆͂̇͛͗͆̒͊̿̚r̨͔̘͙͉͕̮̭̻̺̲̰̫͔͋͆̒̏͆͊̋̽̑͘̕͘͟͝n̨̧̧̨̜̳̹̤̗͎̩̠͕͊̈̈́̽͗̃̈́̑̀̄̍͌̏̍́͟ͅ ̨̢̼̞̥̩͇͖̣͔͍͎͉͑̂̏̓̍͒͗̑͛̆̽̾͝ḽ̩̠̺̫͂̂̀̾̋̂͜ḭ̧͆͞ẗ̫̹̣̖̦̪͎͇̬̹̞̤͉́̋̿̍̓̽͑̓̑͂̀̊́t̬̙̺͔̰̤̳̒̔̎̇̀̍l̡̢̗͙̰̖̝͈̬̘̥̿̔̓͗̾̾͊̂̔͌̍̚ͅȅ̦͇̰̬͈̭͇̰̯͐͐̏̏́̄̅- f̜̣̀̇̄̅͟͟ü̬̹͍̠͈̺̪͚̿́̑̎͌̅̓ĉ̨̡̡̞̤̠͍͈̺͙̈́͋́̾̈͊̅̓̈́͐͟͜͞k̨͓͖̥̑͑̈i͙͖̟͕̤̳̮̘͚̮̐̎͒̒̌̕̚̕n̙̬̂̒͐ͅg̬͉̗̗̖͙̘̠̐̒̍͒̈́̽͘͢͝ ̡̧̳̺̤͐̉̅̈́͜͞͠f̧̛̮̟̫̞̦͖̲͔̌͂́͊̂̐͆̚i̢͕̙̟̺̜̥̜̓̉̔͋͘̚͘ṇ̡̢̜̩͎͇͙̪́͌͑̓̈̇͛̍̓͘͜͟͞ȧ̹l̘̬͈͍̰̻͎͛́̈̐̆̅l̤͔͔̀͐͡y͔͓͔̝͚̘͇̭̜̘̐̽̓̃̂͒̑̇͌͘.̨̧̛͚̗͖̺͙̼͕̯̦͉͙̌͂̆̊̄̿̔͛͑̍̎͛͢͟͝͡
I͇̲͊̐͟ ̘̓t͔͐au̠͛gh̬̠͂͆͐͟͡ͅt̢͉̻̮͋͗͛̈ ̛̞͔̓t̡̿ḩ̝̼̎͘͠͝ͅe̥͔̿̏m̟͚̃͊ ͙̙͖̝̒̌͐̅̀͢ẃ̙̥̔ę͙͋̒l͇̉l̨͇̯̘͆̋̋͌ ̢̙̙͆̓͑ỉ̬n̬̼̼͑̎̚ M̙̫͓̱͊̂̂̊ô̗̜̰͚͎͑̈́̿̏j̠͔͆̓ḁ͇̂̄ͅñ̪͕̜͌ǧ͟͜,͙̥̆͊̔̚͜ͅ ̢͎̟̝͛̈́̏̊̈͢ţ̮̄̋͊ͅh̛̻̲̀è̲̜͎̮̆͒̿í̟̰͒r̙̽ ̡̼͖͊̐̂ĉ̢͎̿ò̬̻̯̠͒̿̎͝ͅd͟ḛ̐ ̡̥̹̔̏͐i̱̺̕͠s̩̺̽̓͡ͅ ̡̟̒͗s̹͐t̪͈͊̽ȓ͚̖͇͂̚o̝̻̙̱͆́̚͝ͅnǵ͉̲͉̥̋̑̕.̲̲̟̒̓͋̂͟ B̝̎ų͔̻̤̈́̿̓͞t͎̟͚̠͋̍̏͞ ̡̗̰̞̉̄̿͗į͈̩̠͎̍̌̄̏͊f̱͖͗́ ͔̗̖̐͋̇I ̝̩͗̓́ͅc͇͌a̬̺̗͍̐͐͗͐̅͢n̨̞͎͐͘͞ ̰̳̽̔jusẗ̨̼́͌͟ ̗͍̜͂̋̚ų̱̕͠n͕̰̆̕s̭̿ta̮͌bī̬̠̻̙͔̍̓̓͞l̖̹͈̎͝i̛̘̠z̘͖̠͋̆͡e ̨̹͑͗ǐ̤͔̂t̢̎͌͜ ͙͉́̓a̪̪͂͡ ̻̋ĺ͓̗͖̈́͘it͇̙̮͑̄͡ť̮̣̬̐̊l̛̰̯͛e̢̢͔̜̊͆͂̓͢͠,̙̄ ̧̧͎̟̞̿̑̇̌́ā̡̫̎d̨̳̰̋̎͘d̨̮̤͛̎͝ ͓̜͔̣̋̓͋̍a̖̝̤͂̄̒͡ͅ ̺̍l̻̪̑͝ḭ̔ṯ̊t̢͎̟̐̆͠l̡̫͚͒̐͡ȅ̡̱͑ ch͢a̧̟̲̓̅͞o̡͞s̥̟̅͝,͎̫̯͆͂͘ ̳̯͚̺̝̿̑̓̌̏t͕͍͓̄͌͊̚͢ḧ͚͖͕̗̒́̕e̢̯͒̊ÿ̩̬ ̩̯̈̊mị̄gh͉̃t̢̼̜̼̉̆͗͠ ̜̂l̼̮̪̺̃̾͞͠i̮̐v̗̆͜͞e͓̥̊̋ ̨̛̛̹͔̮̌͌ṱ͇͉̾͠o͙̲̬̔̐ ̫̗̩͎͕̃͌̒͠ŕ̥̙̱̊ĕ̲͎͋ğ̡̛̝͓̂̏͟re͟t̗̾ ̛̥̙̺̬̼̐́̌̈́g̜͈̩͛̇͑͘͠ͅͅe̳̻͇̒͒̔͜t̮̓̒̈͜͟tin̘̓g̭̏ ̭͖̈́̅r̟̈́i͉͆d̘̖̖̝̘͆͗̈̿͋ ̰̀o̘̲̐̾̾͟f̣͐ ͌͜mé̜.̺͐̑̒͜͜
Al̪͞ri̝̠̋̐g͉̩͉͊̓h̨̒t̯̽,̩͈̺̩̓̌̍̈́͐͢͝ͅ d̤̖̞͆̓͘o̡̢̢̬̪̘̠͍͍̻̫̻̯͑̈́̒̇͆͌̌͛̄̾͘n͇̬̿̎e̖̫͔̠̫̓͐̇͂̒͢͞.̨̦̦̗̭̩̳̰̼͕͚̠̼̠̳̪̊̄̂̒̐̀͑̌͌͑̂̐̀̏̕̕͢͠ͅ Oḩ̡͓̯͔̩̗̤̗̻̜̯̦̳̥͈̟̉̎͗̍̽̃̆̔̉̓̈́̆̓̉̓̉͊̾͟ ̢̡̤̯̞͓̰̻̥̹̜̫͓̲̰̝̂̿̓́̑͗̅̽͋͒͌̆͘͘͟͢͠͞͠s̖̺̟̮̪͍̬̗̤͖̲̫͖͇͓̠̼̏͗̑̽͛͋̑̎̔̈̔̓̅̔̈́̄̚͟͞h̨̛̬͔̫̹͎̤̰̙͈̳̻̱͉͍̟̼̋͛̍͒̌̎͐̉̀̋͋͒͂̋͜͝͡͠i̛͚̰̮̲̩͖̻̹̙̝̯͕͔̼̫̰͇̟̓̓̎͋͌̊͐͛̏̅̾͒̓͗͋͘͘t̢̡͔̖͍̳̜͔̗͍̙̥͉̲͕̎̈́̐̎̎̒̄̏̈́̽͋̏̌̄̚͜͜͠͞͝ͅ ̢̢̡̛̗̱̠̹͇̪̰͉̘̖̭̠̰̆̿̃̅̄͑̂̽̑͒̋͐͘̚͘͢͢͠͠ơ̢̛̬̭̰̳̝͖̲̝̗̯̱̮̥͔̲͖̓̈́̉̽͛̋̔̑̊̐͆̅͒͘͜͞͠w̨̛̙̯̰̳̲̰̳̙̦̘̠̘̹̥̬͍͍̎̐͂͋̓̋̈͗͊̇͗̑̇̍͂̕ ̡̨͖͓͎̭̩̲̼̲͉̞͎̼̾͒͛̌͊͗̆̒̏͊͗̍͗̕̕̕͢͟͟͟͞ớ̢̞̤͍̙͍̟̮̺̱̥͓̥̺̲̖̩̰̀̈́̎̇̏̓͋̃̅͒̊͆̚͘w̨̨̢̛̺͎͓̮͓̪̱̟̻̺͙͈̓̎̈́̈͆̍̇̅͌̌̀̎̚͘͘͢͢͠ͅ ̡̭̯͇̹̮͍̜͕̻͈̱̦͕͇̂͒̎͋̀̒̌̊͂͆̊̄͆̉͘͘͜͢͢͡͞ȯ̡͓̼̞̮̭̝̺̲͇̰̦̰̗̩̬̠͓̋͋̊͐̍̀̐̑͗̇͐̄̚̚͘͡w̧̮͔̳̣̱̮͓̠̬͕̻͙͓̪̺̥̎̈́̂͐̉̋̓̐̿̋̉̏͒͋̅̋͛̚ͅ ow ow ow-
A tremor wracks the code, disturbs the foundation of the world and the realms, notifying all who know of the code that something’s changed, but no one knows what. For a minute, some players drop to their knees with the knowledge something happened to their three lives; some creatures spawn in environments they aren’t meant to, out of place and baffled; and somewhere in the world, a mask sits on the ground, a simple smiley face carved in.
It rises from where it lays on the ground, floating statically and staring straight ahead, strap dangling below. The strap hangs limply before shooting up until it’s level with the mask’s center, slowly moving until it attaches to the other side. The smile stays stock still despite the movement and it hangs in the middle of nowhere, unseen by anyone but us. It’s staring into our souls, fixing us in place, rooting us to the spot. We’re both suspended in time and space, and you see a cloak drift down from the mask, hood coming up and fabric rustling in an unseen wind. It stares with its carved smile, ingrained into the mask, and it holds you with its gaze. The mask twists sideways at a sicking speed and angle and carved into the mask is a laughing face.
XD
