Missing (Third in An Old Friend Series) //Hermitcraft & Yhs Crossover\\

4

        "So that explains that large cut on your head..." Keralis said after Impulse retold his story to his friends. "I just felt something go into my neck and hit the ground. I guess I was too excited for Run that I hadn't even noticed someone was following me." He added. 

        "How long have you guys been here?" Impulse put a hand up to his wound to figure out the severity of it before TFC huffed for a second. 

        "Well, we can't really tell due to how constantly dark it is in here, but I know I've been here the longest. Maybe a couple of days?" He said in an unsure tone and looked up at his fellow hermits, who looked at him sadly. Impulse was about to respond when light suddenly flooded into the room. And for the first time since he had gotten there, Impulse saw him. He stood in the doorway wearing his regular cloak and mask, blocking some of the light twinkling from the torch just outside of the door. It took Impulse a moment to realize that there was someone else standing with him. He recognized the shape of goggles resting on the top of their head instantly, but before his brain could process betrayal, False's body fell limp onto the floor in front of them, clearly unconscious. He breathed a sigh of relief before crawling over to her to see if she was ok. He carefully flipped her over and saw she had a small cut on her forehead but otherwise looked fine. The figure was closing the door when Keralis piped up suddenly. 

        "Wait!" The figure paused for a moment, keeping a steady eye trained on all of them, skeptical of their plans. "Please, what do you want from us?" He asked desperately. They all could hear the smile on his lips as he said,

        "It's not what I want from you, but what I'm taking from him." And with that, he slammed the door shut, causing Keralis to jump a bit. 

        "Who is him?" TFC asked and they all sat confused before they heard a weak female voice say simply,

        "Grian."

The shulker boxes scattered around Iskall's island had started to annoy him, so he devoted a whole day to organizing. The sun began to set as he put the last of his scattered blocks into their devoted chests and the low glow of his torches flickered softly. The last chest closed as he heard something behind him move. He stayed facing his chests, attempting not to alert the person that he knew they were there. As they got closer to him, Iskall's heart began to race, and he began to take into account everything that was in the room. How far away he was from the door. What armor he was wearing. Where his sword was. That's when he realized that his sword, usually hanging from his belt, he left on a shulker box halfway across the room. The quiet footsteps got closer and closer until finally, they stopped directly behind him. Iskall took a deep breath before swinging suddenly, aiming his fist toward their head. 

His hand hit their mask, causing Iskall more pain than the figure. He heard something crack in his hand, but his adrenaline took over. The figure, shocked by the sudden attack, backed up a bit, and Iskall took the opportunity to run to his sword. He raced toward it, only to realize that it wasn't there anymore. He stopped in confusion for a moment and spun back to face the figure, who now stood ready and angry, holding Iskall's sword in one hand, a syringe in the other. Iskall raised his arms in a fighting stance, nervous deep down but adrenaline still pumping through his veins as the figure lunged at him. He ducked under their lunge and ran to another chest, praying he would find something useful in it. He threw it open and wrapped his hand around a loose arrow, turned and resumed his fighting stance. This time, he ran at the figure with all of the energy he had, which wasn't much as the setting sun continued to fall beneath the horizon. They collided in a confusing tangle of sharp objects, both uncertain of who was pierced by said objects. That's when he heard it. A grunt from the figure, much higher-pitched than he was expecting. He had hurt them. He had hurt her. 

His brain spun and tried to calculate, giving the figure an opportunity to stab down with the syringe, directly into his neck. He hit the ground in a matter of seconds, laying flat on his back, desperately trying to stand but failing with every attempt. He could feel where the needle had been inserted throbbing, along with unimaginable pain coming from his swelling and probably broken hand. His consciousness began to fade in and out as he felt something pool under him quickly, warm and uncomfortable. With the last bit of his awareness, he looked down to see a large red stain forming around his stomach, and blood pooling from it. He rested his head back in defeat, unable to move or even keep his eyelids open. They closed slowly, and he let out a long breath, drifting into a deep, unsettling sleep. 

Jesus, I finally finished this chapter. This one just kept beating my ass. I would write something, hate it, get rid of it, and only end up with like one new sentence or two. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I am still horrible at writing fight scenes but whatever. Sorry for the long wait, I hope you have a good day/night, and you are lovely.