Chapter Text
The silence was heavy, only broken by Builderman’s hoarse breath.
The round had been a massacre. 1x1x1x1 had hammered themselves like a living shadow, first killing Elliot with a sword in the head, surprised Guest who was trying to help Chance after his gun blew up on him, did not let Two Time approach him and even assassinate from afar Dussekar and oo7n7 with a mass infection. And now, Builderman, the last survivor, staggered among the rubble. His body was trembling, a burning pain burned on his right flank — the mark left by an infection that crawled in his veins.
He looked up. In front of him, 1x1x1x1 running straight ahead with the sole objective of killing him, while he no longer had the strength to run, nor the escape, nor the time to build a turret. But before the cold-blooded killer could deliver his blow, Builderman blinked and found himself sitting at the big table in the hall. Time had passed. He had survived. The survivors of the previous round were already there, frozen, their faces pale, tired from this new round.
No one knows if it was the 1000th or the 4850 round yet they had tried to keep the accounts, but it was abandoned at the 693 round. And this one was a rare round: a survivor had survived.
Quite quickly, the survivors organized themselves for the evening meal: the best time according to him.
Between having to die with the only people he can consider as his family since he's here, seeing them die and dying in front of them
and sharing meals, laughter, and conversations during the only moment when they are more or less at peace. There’s no doubt.
But as he got up to help Elliot prepare the meal, a rumble made the walls vibrate. The slabs cracked under their feet and a silent scream filled the atmosphere.
W-What’s going on??
Everyone quickly gathered in the center, keeping each other’s backs and alert for danger.
A laugh echoed — serious, distorted, inhuman.
The Spectre.
— It’s not over...
The ground shrouded. Builderman felt gravity shatter as they all fell, swallowed by a black abyss. One last scream was lost in the void... then nothing more.
A cold sensation against his skin.
A dull buzz in his ears.
Then... the light.
Builderman blinked, but his eyelids seemed to weigh tons. The light above him was not that of the Forsaken hall, nor was it the reddish sheen of the butchery grounds. It was an almost painful white, motionless and sterile. He breathed... and a strange odor assaulted him: mixture of medical alcohol, disinfectant and a metallic scent of dried blood. His breath was short, chopped, as if his lungs had forgotten how to work.
Blurry shadows moved around him.
Low voices, fast, but incomprehensible.
He wanted to turn his head, but a fulgurating pain exploded in his head. A figure leaned above him. Brown eyes, attentive, shining with professional concern, stared at him. He felt a fresh hand rest on his shoulder, holding it gently. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, raspy, as if covered in dust. No sound comes out. Several drips gently pull on the skin of his arm. His fingers trembled weakly against the sheet.
The world around him vibrated slightly, as if it were still suspended between two realities: one where he had just fallen into the black abyss, and this one, motionless, sanitized, cold. His heart was beating too fast. Every pulse echoed in his temples. The pain in his flank reminded him of the invisible infection he had suffered during the last round. Then, like a black wave, fatigue returned.
The voices around him became distant, distorted, almost unreal.
He felt his hand slip on the sheet... and plunged back into the darkness, as if someone were closing a door behind him.
This time, it was not the light that pulled him out of sleep, but a sound.
A beep... beep... regular beep, like an artificial heartbeat. Builderman opened his eyes more slowly, as if he feared what he was going to discover. The white, naked ceiling was still there, but it no longer had this blinding violence. On its left, a wide window filtered a gray light, perhaps that of a rainy morning.
He felt less numb, but his limbs remained heavy, almost foreign. A thick bandage always gripped his right flank, and each deep breath lit up a dull pain. A presence moved at his side.
A man, in his fifties, impeccable white blouse, notebook in hand. His face had this cautious expression, half-professional, half-relieved.
— You are awake... for good this time, he said with a slight smile.
Builderman blinked, searching for his words. His voice finally came out, husky, fragile:
— Where... am I?
The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse who was noting something on a tablet. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, as if he was about to announce bad news.
— You are at a Secret Robloxia hospital. You... have been in a coma for eight years.
The words remained suspended in the air, heavy, unreal. Builderman felt his stomach tie. His fingers grabbed the sheet mechanically, as if he was going to slip out of the bed. His thoughts collide. The accident. The beginnings in the forgotten realm. The survivors. The rounds. The laughter of the Spectre. The fall into the abyss. The last look at the hall of Forsaken realm. Then... nothing.
— Eight... years? he repeated in a breath.
— After your disappearance, and that of Dussekar, Robloxia descended into great agitation and panic. No one dared to take your place during all this time with the hope that you would wake up and all the administrators and moderators tried to fill the hole while waiting for you. Shortly after your disappearance, Shedletsky was found in a deep coma as well... but this was not announced publicly since he is no longer an administrator, and it would just have made the population of Robloxia panic even more.
Every word brought him a little more to the surface, but his mind remained blurred, stuck in the shadows of the Forsaken kingdom. He had the impression that fragments of memories floated around him, ready to recompose themselves... but every time he reached out to grab them, they faded.
He remembers the other survivors, the different locations, but also of a sense of danger, fear and a smell of blood. But why? He sees silhouettes in the distance, terrifying, but impossible to remember a clear image, a name or anything.
-And.. the others? Shedletsky.. Dussekar? How are they?
-I am sorry I don’t have any information on this, given your importance for Robloxia we have isolated you in a kept secret building with all the employees and doctors to avoid... incidents.
-.... I see.
-You need to rest, you just woke up from an 8-year coma. I am sure it will take time for you to recover. I will do what I can to answer your questions after your rest.
-Very well thank you very much.
Three weeks later, Builderman was standing in front of his office door. He had surprisingly recovered very very quickly. Can be an advantage of being an administrator after all.
The announcement of his return had been announced, bringing happiness and relief though all of Robloxia. Several big parties in his honor had been organized and he had honestly planned to make a public appearance but the other administrators did not agree, and he was somewhat forced to continue resting even if he had left the hospital.
The hallway seemed strangely familiar, like an echo of a past life. The smooth walls, the aligned frames... everything was the same, and yet he felt like a stranger in his own world.
DoomBringer was waiting for him inside, standing near the large bay window overlooking the skyline of Robloxia. The light of the sunset draws shadows on his face that accentuate his serious air.
— You have finally returned, he said with a discreet smile, almost relieved.
Builderman closed the door behind him, advanced slowly and took his seat in the armchair that he had missed so much. His hand glided over the polished wood of the desk... as if to make sure it wouldn’t disappear again.
— Glad to be back too, I almost missed this old desk filled with paperwork. He says laughing, but then, turned toward Dommbringer, more serious:
.... Doom I need to talk to you about my coma, he began. What I have... over there... It wasn't normal.
-What do you mean? Did you see things during your coma?
-Honestly it’s much more than seen, it’s liv-
His throat jammed.
Impossible to continue. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
A cold sensation moved up her neck, as if an invisible hand wrapped around his trachea.
DoomBringer frowned.
— Builderman? What’s wrong with you?
Someone knocked on the door. An employee rushed in, holding a file against him.
— Sir... you have a visitor.
- He receives no one and will not receive anyone for a good while, he needs to rest. declares DoomBringer
-Who is it? Asked Builderman anyway.
—It's Dussekar. And... He’s accompanied by Shedletsky.
The name rang in the air like a thunderbolt.
Builderman felt his heart miss a beat. The blurry silhouettes of his memories returned: Dussekar, before the fall... and Shedletsky, disappeared without a word into the abyss. Both in a coma. They are awake too?
The employee hesitated, then added:
— They say... must talk to you urgently.
A shiver ran down Builderman’s spine.
It wasn’t just a reality check. It was the beginning of something else.