Work Text:
“You’re good at the game! Be proud of yourself,” Scar had said to Pearl, and he had meant it. She deserved a chance at winning as much as he did, and he wasn’t going to take that away from her, even if it would give him an advantage fighting Gem. If it came down to it, he and Pearl would fight on even ground, and he would win—or lose—fair and square.
And for a moment, as he and Gem clashed swords, the diamond ringing, a thought had prickled at the back of his mind, beyond the raging bloodlust—that it might not matter anyway, because Gem might kill him right here.
But she had gone down, and then it was just him and Pearl.
Scar didn’t waste any time. No more scheming, no more truces, no more bartering. The bloodlust of being a Red surged, and he could feel the sharp, feral grin splitting his face as he let his arrows fly. “All right, Pearl,” he said as he ducked around Lizzie’s grave, his voice even, almost friendly despite the song of kill! kill! kill! inside his head, “now it’s free game.”
He threw everything he had at her—every arrow, every stick of dynamite. And when he glanced away, just for a moment, at her warning, and looked back to see her falling back over the edge of the cliff—
It didn’t really… click , at first, what had happened. “Pearl! I’m coming for ya!,” Scar sang as he carefully picked his way down into the ravine, a counterpart to the rage singing in his head. “Where’d you go?” He looked, and looked, and only after several seconds of staring around at the cliffs stretching above him, ignoring the zombie trying to gnaw at his heels, did he finally realize. Pearl was gone.
Scar had won.
“...Really?” he said aloud in sheer disbelief. “How did that happen?” He’d had no real alliances this game, had been forced to become the villain at every turn until he had just given up and embraced it, and yet…here he still somehow stood, alone at the end.
“How’d the guy with no friends win?” he muttered to himself with a laugh. The laugh turned louder, longer, and then he couldn’t stop laughing, his head in his hands as the hollow sound rang through the ravine.
Eventually, it petered out into silence. He straightened slowly, glaring at the zombie still doggedly after him before killing it with a quick swipe of his blade. Then he sighed, and began the slow (quiet, so quiet now) climb out of the ravine and back to the Secret Keeper. He’d succeeded in his task, after all—he might as well make it official.
As he approached the looming statue that darkened the very air around it, Scar couldn’t help but glare up at the symbol etched into its face. It was the reason he’d had no allies, the reason he’d been the villain of the server for most of the season, the reason he’d spent so many nights feeling alone . And sure, maybe it had helped out in the end—no allies meant no one to really hold him back, after all. But was it worth it?
After five seasons, he’d finally, finally won one of these twisted games. He should be celebrating, cheering to the sky with triumph. And it wouldn’t be long until he saw his friends again, and he knew they’d congratulate him—he’d played well and won fairly, that was undeniable. No grudges or hard feelings—those were the rules, they all knew how it worked.
But something in him felt…hollow, somehow.
Scowling, Scar shook his head. Probably just the lingering bloodlust—his enemies may all be gone, but until he left here, he was still Red, after all. He pressed the “success” button.
The customary whispers surrounded him, growing louder, louder, louder —
And in a blinding flash of light, he was gone, and the ravaged world was at last left empty.