Zed rushed out the front of his base, realising he’d almost forgotten to meet with False again. He sorely hoped that the burn scar on his arm wouldn’t show underneath his lab coat, otherwise there would be some awkward questions that he wasn’t entirely prepared to answer. After all, how on earth did one explain their entire right arm being covered in burn marks overnight?
Still, despite running late, he managed to meet False halfway up the mountain again.
“What, did you forget already?” False asked, looking like she was suppressing a laugh as Zed paused to regain his breath.
“Something like that,” he told her, as she handed over the slime. “Thanks!”
“Hey, no problem.” She chuckled. “Cool base, by the way!” she called back as she walked away, leaving Zed alone on his mountain.
Well, at least the interaction had gone quickly this time; and it warmed Zed’s heart a little that False always found a way to compliment his base.
———
A few days later, Zed found himself digging through his closet again, although the process went a lot more smoothly this time, now that he knew where the costume was. He dug it out, discarding the odd cloak, and held it up. Huh. Apparently the rules about his outfits staying consistent didn’t just apply to his lab coat. His Worm Man costume was still singed where EX’s lightning had struck it, though at least the dust was gone. Still, he was going to have to wash and mend it before it could be used — unless Zed wanted to cause EX psychological torment, but he didn’t, so he had to fix it.
He tossed it onto his bed, making a note in his journal to deal with it after he got back from Tango’s experiment. That journal was really a lifesaver, it turned out, even for the more mundane parts of Zed’s situation, like remembering to eat and sleep and spend time with friends.
Speaking of, he heard a knock on the outer window of his base. It was time to Tango.
———
“EXy!” Zed yelled, kicking in the door of the Evil Emporium. He rolled his shoulders, ready to bolt (excuse the pun) the moment EX began firing. “I’m here to save you!”
“Really? That’s cute,” EX said, exactly the same as last time. Zed dodged to the left before the electricity even had the chance to leave EX’s fingertips. He dashed for the stairs, barrelling up them by propelling himself with his arms. Alas, he forgot about the bolt that struck his shoulder last time, and he yelled as it made contact. He hissed, grabbing it. He could’ve sworn it hadn’t hurt this much last time.
Still, he lunged for EX, pinning them down again.
“Let. Them. Go.”
“No, I don’t think I wi—” This time, EX cut themself off with the scream. Zed let them pull themself away, waiting for them to get their helmet off. Zed could’ve sworn the bags under their eyes were darker this time, but he was well aware that it could've just been the cosmic exhaustion that was beginning to burrow deep into his own bones.
Zed was so caught up in his worry over them that he almost missed his cue to go in for the hug. EX still latched onto him, desperation and fear driving their actions. Zed held them close, trying to wash them over with warmth and comfort. Quietly sobbing, they buried their face into the crook of Zed’s neck.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Zed whispered.
“I know, but—”
“Evil X?” X’s voice called up once more. “What happened?”
“Fuck,” EX whispered, not moving.
“Your brother?”
“My brother.”
“You’ve got this,” Zed reassured them. “I promise he’ll understand.”
“He didn’t, in season 6.”
“I promise.”
———
It was a reasonably sunny, otherwise perfectly normal day, when Zed discovered one of the worse parts of his situation. He’d been light-heartedly going about his business, trying to pass the dreary days between now and the next time he had to do something, and had had the brilliant idea to check out his pitch drop experiment. He knew he’d been spending a few more hours in his base each day than in the past, and (forgive him) he was curious what effect that would have.
When he opened the chest, he expected to see half a stack more obsidian, maybe a stack more if he was being generous. When he opened the chest, he instead took about seventeen thousand, six hundred and ninety-four points of psychic damage.
He blinked. He rubbed at his eyes. He closed the chest and opened it again. That couldn’t be right. If he’d done his math right, he’d spent a total amount of time in his base equal to a little over one and a half years. Which was impossible. It had to be impossible. Zed couldn’t have been here that long—
Unless.
Unless, of course, the pitch drop experiment also persisted over loops. Unless it was able to tell Zed exactly how long he’d been doing this. Zed slammed the chest shut and scuttled away from it as far as possible. He enjoyed being in denial of any situations he was faced with, thank you very much, and the blatant reminder before him that he’d already spent years doing the same thing was kind of the opposite of denying his situation.
Firmly, he resolved to himself to never ever ever check that chest again for the rest of his life.
———
“State your name,” Zed spoke into the intercom, clipping the note sheet to his clipboard.
“Mumbo? Mumbo Jumbo.” The man in the chamber responded.
“No, state it,” Zed corrected, almost out of habit thanks to his experiments on Tango.
“Uh. Okay, er. My name is Mumbo Jumbo,” Mumbo tried, wringing his hands. Zed gave him a thumbs-up.
“Good.” Zed shuffled his notes, before pulling out a few inkblots. “Now, just to establish a baseline, I’d like you to say what you see for each of these pictures I’m about to show you.”
“Oh—okay. Okay.” Mumbo nodded. “I can do that.”
Zed showed him the first image.
“That’s, uh. Hm. A storm? Yeah. A big storm, over an—an island, I wanna say.”
Zed made a couple notes, then showed him the second image.
“Oh! That’s the shapes! The shapes in the Boatem hole! You can see them shifting if you look hard enough! It’s a good way to pass time…” Mumbo trailed off at the look on Zed’s face. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s—it’s nothing.” Zed shook his head. He wrote down Mumbo’s response, and then showed Mumbo the third image.
“Oh. I, uh, don’t know. But it looks lonely. It looks like it would do anything to come closer to the people around it, even if it hurts them. I want to cherish it.”
“Right.” Zed noted that down, as well. “I think that’s enough of that.” He turned over to the next page. “Now, I’d like you to build me a god.”
“Build you a god?”
“Yes. Feel free to interpret that however you want.”
“Right.”
Zed watched as Mumbo set about to work, building a messy orb out of dirt, then coating it in end stone. He paused, as if he was about to declare his task done, before pulling out some soul soil out from a chest and setting it aflame. He smiled, and turned to Zed. Zed didn’t respond. The glow of the soul flames made the burns on his arm itch, the flashing blue light almost entrancing.
“Zed?” Mumbo asked. “I’m done.”
“...Right,” Zed nodded, not entirely present, the feeling of burning threatening to overtake his senses once more. “Right!” he snapped back to reality all of a sudden. “Yes. That’s very, uh… very. Could you, uh, put out the flames, though? Don’t—don’t wanna set off the smoke alarms?”
Mumbo nodded, and set about putting out the fires as Zed noted down Mumbo’s (rather concerning, given everything) response, his handwriting significantly more shaky than before.
“Right, now, do you see those barrels on the side of the chamber?” Zed asked. Mumbo nodded. “I want you to look in each of them and tell me the first Hermit that pops into your head, as fast as you can.”
“Okay.”
“Three, two, one, go!”
Mumbo opened the first barrel. Inside was an axe, a couple of buttons, a stack of sand, a singular piece of TNT, and music disc 13. Well, that one was easy.
“Grian,” he called out.
The second barrel, on the other hand, held 42 amethyst crystals, a stack of emerald blocks, a totem of undying, and a couple blocks of dark prismarine. On the one hand, Mumbo’s first instinct at seeing the chest screamed Impulse, but on the other… no, he was supposed to go with his gut, wasn’t he?
“Impulse,” he told Zed. Zed just watched, impassive.
When he opened the third barrel, he was greeted by the smell of warm soup, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d forgotten to eat lunch before coming here. Other than the nine bowls of soup, there were a boat and a few stacks of warped and acacia logs, arranged to look like a worm or a snake or something, if said worm or snake was upside-down and balancing soup on its head.
“Pearl?” Mumbo guessed.
Inside the final barrel, there were assorted logs, a bow and arrow, quite a bit of sand and dirt, a few stacks of copper, and (somehow) Jellie, who jumped out of the barrel at Mumbo, knocking him over. Gently, Mumbo removed the cat from his face, and announced:
“Scar.”
Zed laughed, and noted down Mumbo’s responses. They weren’t surprising, but that was probably a good thing. It meant Zed had Boatem as figured-out as those madmen could be.
After that, it was all stuff he’d done before. He settled back into the regular rhythm of his absurd experiments, almost zoning out, and ultimately satisfied with the actual data he’d obtained.
———
“So, to recap.” EX took a deep breath, looking at Worm Man, who they were sitting on the bed next to.
“Yes.” Worm Man nodded.
“There’s a cult.”
“Yes.”
“On Hermitcraft.”
“Yes.”
“That has nothing to do with the voice in my head.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s in… Boatem? The place with the void hole?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to go fight them.”
“Save them.”
“Save them by fighting them.”
“Hopefully not.”
“Eh.” EX shrugged. “Anyway. So you’re gonna go… deal with them… and you want my help?”
“Ideally.”
“Okay.” EX nodded. “I’d love to.”
“That’s great—”
“But.” EX interrupted, holding up a finger to shush Worm Man. “But. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for starters, it’s not because I’m scared,” EX explained, very clearly lying, “I’ve fought danger with you before—although, not as serious—and I haven’t been scared one bit.”
“Naturally. I haven’t either.” Worm Man was also lying.
“But, you know… cults, even if they have nothing to do with the voice, they make me… uncomfortable. The thought of being controlled again, even—even if it’s because of social manipulation instead of magic… well, it doesn’t scare me. It just makes me a little bit nervous. I’m not too keen on it.”
“Okay.” Worm Man nodded. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. This thing, it makes me nervous too. Did I ever tell you about the burn scar on my arm?”
“No?” EX shook their head.
“Well, I got this,” Worm Man rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scarred, pink skin beneath, “From a similar situation.”
“Oh. Fuck. That’s, uh. That’s not fun.”
“It wasn’t. So, I support you not wanting to come along. I understand fully.”
“You’re sure?”
“EXy.” Worm man grabbed EX’s shoulders. “You’re my friend first, and my sidekick second. What you’re comfortable doing always takes priority over the mission, no matter how much hangs in the balance. You have my word as a hero.”
———
Zed circled above Boatem, looking for Impulse, or Mumbo, or anyone else caught up in that mess. He figured the element of surprise would give him the edge he needed to make it out of this interaction without any more burn scars. Eventually, he spotted Impulse, staring into a mug at the gates of his factory.
“Impulse.” Zed landed right in front of the man in question, startling him out of his dazed stare into his twelfth cup of coffee in as many hours. “We need to talk about the cult.”
“Cult?” Impulse asked, confused.
“You know, the Mooners business.”
“...That’s not a cult?” Impulse tilted his head, confused. “We’re just—we're just saving the server!” Impulse shrugged. “Unlike you!” He poked Zed in the shoulder, pointing out his costume. “In your PJs!”
“Impulse, I hate to break it to you, but—”
“It’s not a cult!” Impulse yelled, gesturing wildly. His coffee fell out of his hands, shattering on the ground, spilling the liquid everywhere (thankfully, it had gone cold). “I’m in perfectly normal… I’m normal!”
Zed gestured to the coffee on the ground.
“That’s normal!”
“Impulse, look.” Zed sighed. “Cults control your behaviour, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Then prove you’re not in a cult. Prove this Mooners stuff isn’t controlling you. Sleep.”
“...What if I don’t want to?” Impulse asked. Zed sighed.
“Look!” Impulse grabbed Zed’s arm. Zed flinched as Impulse’s hand squeezed around his burn scar. “I’ll show you the book! Then it’ll all make sense!”
“This isn’t helping your case at all,” Zed told Impulse as the man dragged him along. Impulse just gave him a confused look, the bags under his eyes making the expression all the more pathetic.
“Oh, hey Mumbo!” Impulse greeted, as the two stepped into the temple. Zed, panicked, wrenched his arm out of Impulse’s grip. Impulse gave him yet another confused look. “I was just showing Zeddy here that the Mooners aren’t a cult, and maybe get him to join the cause!”
“You—you think the Mooners are a cult?” Mumbo asked. There were those loaded questions again, Zed realised. Thankfully, he was a superhero right now. He was allowed to be a little bolder. Maybe. Although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a medium-sized rock.
“Yes. And I’m worried about you. You’re my friend too, Mumbo.”
“Well, I’m worried about you!” Mumbo replied, his tone a perfect mirror of Zed’s. “After all, you’ve clearly been sleeping! You’re one reason the moon is so sad! But I know you don’t want us all to die.” Zed flinched at Mumbo’s phrasing, taking a step away as Mumbo got dangerously close—outside of the building this time, away from the fire pit. “So why don’t you want to help us?”
“I do! I do want to help you!” Zed raised his hands defensively. “But this is not helping! What you’re doing is not—”
“I don’t think you understand, Zed.” Mumbo stepped closer again. “If you’re not helping us appease the moon, then you’re, willingly or not, working against us.” Mumbo pulled out some end crystals and obsidian. “And we need to get you out of the way.”
Zed took another cautious step back, but tripped on his own boots and fell backwards with a soft thud. Mumbo prowled closer, his eyes reflecting the moonlight such that they almost looked like smaller copies of the monolith in the sky. The moon itself, in all its gigantic glory, slowly rose behind Mumbo, framing his head in some twisted sort of halo. Zed’s breaths were panicked and ragged as Mumbo loomed over him, end crystals held in one hand as an implicit threat.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join?” Impulse asked, his voice sounding like it was coming from a million miles away, outside the dreadful balance of Zed and Mumbo’s confrontation. “It’s really easy! You just have to not sleep!”
Zed tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his throat and mouth dry but his eyes watering. With what meagre scraps of dignity and defiance he had left, he shook his head. He would not be joining the Mooners.
“A shame.” Mumbo shrugged, and placed the end crystal down, ready to detonate it, when-
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” A blurry red form came bolting out of the blue, tackling Mumbo to the ground. Impulse took a step back, the manic glee on his face quickly being overtaken by sheer panic. EX and Mumbo struggled on the ground for a moment, before a bolt of lightning came out of EX’s fingers, and Mumbo fell still, save for gentle, subtle breathing. Well, at least Mumbo was still alive.
EX pulled away, shaking slightly.
“Uh.” They stared down at Mumbo, then at their hand, then back at Mumbo. “I already knew I could still do that.” Zed, of course, knew that they were lying through their teeth.
Zed, EX, and Impulse stood there in a stalemate for a moment, and then Impulse lunged for Zed. Before he could get within range, however, EX fired another bolt of lightning, which struck Impulse’s shoulder, sending him reeling and stumbling, until he too collapsed to the floor.
“Well.” Zed looked down at Impulse—he was breathing, good. “That’s one way to get them to sleep, I guess.”
The next couple of days went by in a bit of a blur for Zed. He and EX flitted around Boatem, making sure all the members were getting their sleep, making sure nobody was relapsing, making sure Impulse was recovering from how horribly he’d intensified his caffeine addiction. All good things, mostly, but all tiring things too. Eventually, everyone agreed that Boatem could stand on their own feet again without constant supervision, and Zed was allowed to go home.
He collapsed onto his bed, basking in the familiar comfort of his bedroom. The moon shone through the window, dangerously bright. Zed gazed at it for a moment, lost in thought, then suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. He’d been so busy enabling Xisuma’s plan to get everyone out that he’d forgotten to ask Xisuma what said plan even was. He grabbed his rockets, and set off for the Void Emporium.
———
As Zed walked towards X and EX’s shared office, he could swear he heard what sounded like chanting coming from behind the door. Zed couldn’t make out the words, but it was still a little creepy if he was being entirely honest. Still, maybe it was just EX experimenting with their music taste or something! Zed resolved to think of it like that until things were proven otherwise.
He knocked on the door, but there was no response, no acknowledgement. The chanting simply continued, even and measured. Zed knocked again, louder, but there was still nothing. When his third set of knocks also went unanswered, Zed decided enough was enough, and the situation had officially crossed the threshold between ‘slightly strange’ and ‘weird enough to intervene’. On that thought, Zed kicked down the door.
Zed expected to see any manner of weird things behind that door. Somehow, he was still surprised. To his credit, seeing Ren and Doc standing over their beheaded admin chanting “his name was Xisuma…” was a little out there, even for this server. Either way, Zed had a feeling that he needed to get the hels out of there before he met X’s fate too. Cautiously, he took a step back out the door.
“His name is Zedaph.”
Ren’s head snapped to face him. Zed’s heart leapt into his throat, some deeply buried prey instinct roaring to the surface. He was a sheep, and the wolf was coming for him.
“His name is Zedaph.”
Ren and Doc kept chanting, louder and louder.
“His name is Zedaph.”
Zed wanted to run, but his legs were locked in place, his breaths coming quick and shallow.
“His name is Zedaph.”
In his terror, Zed became aware that there were cobwebs being placed around him. Now he couldn’t run even if he could muster the power to try.
“His name is Zedaph.”
The axe struck his neck once.
“His name is Zedaph.”
Twice.
“His name was Zedaph.”
Thrice. Zed was momentarily aware of the odd sensation of everything from the neck down being missing, before he promptly lost consciousness.
Zed woke up, a scream ripping itself out of his throat. He heaved for breath, moving every part of his body to make sure it was still attached. Once he confirmed he was whole, his hands jumped to his throat, feeling for a scar. Of course, he found one; a small ridge of rough, knotted, poorly-healed skin, like his head had been stuck back on with superglue.
Zed sat back in his bed, taking a moment to breathe and calm down. He couldn’t do much in his panicked state. He needed a plan. He needed to do something to stop Ren and Doc from… doing that. Whatever that was. Zed wasn’t entirely sure, but he reckoned it probably wasn’t what either of them should’ve been doing or wanted to be doing. Of course, in order to make a plan, he needed to let the adrenaline drain from his system, and his panic was not helping with that.
After his heart rate had gone down to a closer approximation of normalcy, Zed got out of bed. He cast a nervous glance at the mirror as he picked up his comm, buzzing with False’s message. He sucked in a nervous breath between his teeth. The scar wasn’t as messy as it had felt, but it was still pretty obvious.
Still, Zed had more important issues. Like making sure that didn’t happen again.
He put on his lab coat, and stepped out into the world.