Hermitcraft 8 Oneshots + A.U's

(5) TFC vs The Grand Watcher

Word Count : 1492

Requested By : dragonesmaster

Hermits (Major) : TinFoilChef,

Hermits (Minor) : XisumaVoid,

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A recognizable face shows themself to TFC after all the other Hermits have left the seventh server. The two have a very passive aggressive talk with each other in a struggle of reflection.

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TFC hummed quietly to himself as he stood in the now empty shopping district that used to be full of players.

Bringing his hand up, Tin summoned the Admin control panel that had been given to him by Xisuma so he could make some last minute corrections.

The silence was nice for now. A small break from the chaotic world that was his dysfunctional family before he had to plunge back in.

Staring at the panel that was in front of him, TFC checked to make sure that there was a proper wall around the server, as well as saving different codes and files that would protect their world incase they ever wanted- or needed- to return.

The Admin panel hummed in the elder's hand.

With a deep calming breath to himself, TFC exhaled slowly- as if physically resetting himself for the new server.

"Well I never thought I'd feel your presence since the fall of the Aether, old friend." TFC exclaimed to the no longer empty server, still facing dead ahead and without breaking eye contact with the Admin panel.

A grouchy huff was offered in return behind Tin's back. "We are hardly friends, anymore, old man."

Lowering his hand, the Admin panel disappeared and TFC let out a deeper laugh. One that was full of dead expressions. "Still with the name calling? I thought you were over childish games, Generik."

A loud snarl suddenly erupted from behind TFC and the sound of a weapon being released from its holster reached his ears.

With a calm, fluid motion, TFC turned ninety degrees to his right, held his right hand up and out in an open palm and held fast. He felt an all too familiar surge of power rush through him as a loud clang rung out seconds later.

Glancing with his eyes to his right and up, he could see the dark netherite spear his old friend had sent his way to execute him.

TFC sighed tiredly. "Old cheap, dirty moves, Gen. Attacking an unarmed, elderly man is a dishonorable thing to do."

With another snarl, TFC's old friend tore off the light purple mask that had hidden his face for so long. In the mask's place was the battered and hate fueled face of a friend that Tin no longer recognized. A face that had only been swallowed whole by hatred and anger.

Generik B's venge-filled eyes glared at TFC's albino cursed ones. "You've lost the right to speak that name."

"And you've lost your way," Tin countered, lowering his hand and letting the netherite spear drop with a thunk in the cement blocks below it. Now he fully turned to the now purple robed and winged figure. "What happened to my friend?"

"We aren't friends anymore, old man," Generik hissed, summoning a sword in place of the spear.

TFC clenched both hands into fists. "What is it that the others call you now? The Grand Watcher?"

The Watcher spread out his wings and lunged for the warrior, swinging down with one large motion.

Sliding one foot back, TFC brought both hands up and summoned a pickaxe in one of them.