A Blessing and a Curse || A Hermitcraft/Watcher AU

Prologue

The pitch black around him swirled like water as he glided through the thin air of the void. The darkness was not a lack of light, but an entity in its own right that would submerge anything other than the obscurity and gloom of its colour. It acted like fog on a chilly, winter morning.

Purple spheres of fire were littered around the open air, like stars in the night sky. Servers. They sat still and peaceful, suspended in the silence. As he flew, the shadowy figure passed by them and took a few seconds to check each one. He brushed his pale hands against their forms gently, handling them like new born kittens, and glanced over the galactic words floating through the flames before moving onto another and treating it with the same care as if it were his most treasured belonging.

Three wings sprouted from beneath each of his shoulder blades, totalling an impressive six, each feathery being covered in tens of purple eyes varying in sizes. They all moved and blinked independently, observing everything in all directions. His short, messy hair was as dark as the infinite space around him, and it flopped defiantly onto the right side of his face, covering part of a white mask which hid his forehead, eyes (the main two, at least) and a bit of his cheeks as it came down on each side of his face into two certain points.

A purple glowing halo circled his head and he wore a charcoal cloak, brought together at the neck by a white toggle with the Watcher symbol imprinted on it in dark purple. His skin was pale all-over and tinted purple at his jawbone and fingertips, and purple blood was visible at his wrist veins. His lips, too, were tinted purple like a frostbite of magic.

He worked in silence, in the company of only the servers, himself and the magic. He wasn't alone, though, because he was linked with everything that surrounded him. His magic was on a network with every force, every sound, every presence, every moment of time. He was linked with every other Watcher, feeling every emotion through no specific language. He was in harmony with the universe, one thread in its fabric, working together with every other thread to hold it together.

After flying through the open air for untellable time, he went over to one specific sphere of magic. It whispered to him, like a child to its parent, asking him to be with it once more. He did as it implored, putting his purple-singed fingertips to it's earnest flames and allowing the wisps of fire to run up his arms and teleport him.

He materialised in the familiar alley (familialley), taken slightly aback by the thickness and warmth of the Overworld air. He always forgot how drastically different it was. The what-should-have-been-deepslate beneath him was as black as a light-eating smoke, and the air surrounding him was shadowed and darker than night, contrasting the rest of the world where it was midday and sunny. It looked like a glitch; the way the light could somehow be broken in mid-air.

He quickly turned to his human form, letting his pale skin warm up, extra eyes dissolve, wings disappear in place of an elytra and his black hair turn blond. The ground around him turned to its normal grey and the shadows cast by nothing disappeared. He took off his mask and cloak, putting both into his Enderchest, and turned his purple jumper to the usual red.

If the hermits saw him like that, he didn't know what they'd do, and he didn't want to find out.

For as long as time had been ticking, Watchers had been watching, but their ominous appearance and foreboding presence didn't exactly make for them to be sociable with any other species. They were misinterpreted and misjudged, and people feared them. Many went as far as to hate them.

Grian didn't blame them though; they were probably a bit unnerving.

-|-|-

Xavon's unfocussed eyes rested on the Derpcoin in his hand. He was sat in the Evil Emporium, comfortable in the atmosphere of distant bubbling lava and solitude. His surroundings were a reflection of himself, every decoration created and put into place by him. It was like a house in hell, fit for an evil mastermind or demon or monster. Fit for him; Evil. Cruel. Unfeeling.

His eyes focussed on the cyan coin. Did the words evil, cruel and unfeeling really describe him anymore? Developing a new currency that hardly anyone used wasn't exactly evil. And his other plans to manipulate Xisuma weren't succeeding either, as he felt more pitied than feared. By this point, it felt like his twin brother was humouring him. His evil past self mocked him; he had become weak.

He felt as though he wanted a tear to roll down his cheek, but it didn't happen and his eyes remained dry. He sat stiffly, feeling that the coin had warmed next to his fingers. He started tracing the indented design with his thumb, staring down at the sad creation. It was almost silent, save for the mumbling of the striders, however, he could only dream of being able to enjoy that peaceful climate. His home was quiet but his head was loud.

He couldn't stop thinking, couldn't put his insecurities to the side for just one second. He didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't know what to do anymore. He'd lost his fire, his drive, his identity, and now he was pretending to be himself. He was lost in the aftermath of a hurricane; everything he thought he knew had been ripped from the ground, every tree uprooted and taken one hundred miles from its origin. Xisuma said it was a good thing, he said things would get better.

But they weren't getting better. He almost wanted to be worse, wanted to go back to the way he was, to numb the pain. He was an echo of himself. He was pathetic. He was weak. He was nothing to the universe. Nothing but a burden to his brother or the hermits.

And when he tried being evil now, it just didn't work. Building a few buildings no one ever visited and a new form of money half the Hermitcraft population hadn't even heard of was nothing compared to the days he would simply go outside and TNT everything. But what else could he do?

Who was he, if not the Evil version of Xisuma? Nobody, that was the answer.