Grian Centric Oneshots - Hermitcraft

I See You

TW: blood, puking

Grian ran. He ran for what felt like forever. Maybe it was. He wasn't keeping track of time. Every breath he drew in was ragged and burned in his chest. Every step he took sent electric shocks through his legs. His entire body wanted to give up, but he wouldn't let it. He couldn't. 

Then he heard it. Quiet. Complete quiet. There was nothing. No birds singing, no river running. The footsteps running after him even disappeared. Cautiously, he chanced a look behind him. He saw nothing. Absolute nothing. He couldn't see. 

But he could feel. He could feel the axe swung at him, he could feel it puncture his skin and mess all of his organs up. He could feel his lungs constrict and send blood up his throat. He couldn't think about anything other than the pain, it was all there. It flowed through his thoughts as the heavy realization of what happened dawned upon him.

Then, there was nothing. Nothing at all. No feelings, nothing.

Then he woke up. In a soft, warm bed. Comfortable. He cautiously brought a hand to his left side, just below his ribcage. He felt nothing but smooth, delicate skin. And a fresh, large scar. He thanked whatever deities he could come up with on the spot that he set his spawn before leaving. His legs still burned, but that was a minor issue now. He still felt a ghost of pain hovering around his newfound scar and his throat still pained with the faint of the blood he had coughed up.

After a bit of rummaging through his cozy hobbit hole, he came up with a hot cup of oolong tea and a cookie that he'd probably had since the beginning of the season. He bit into the stale cookie and looked left. And looked right. He cursed himself for being paranoid, but he knew it was a good idea after that debacle.

He failed to look up.

Glass shattered on his head as he momentarily lost his vision from the trauma applied. He began  to feel sick. Very sick. He felt a bit tired, almost so he could go to sleep. He thought he might've been able to if it weren't the tearing pain in his stomach. He leaned over the side of his chair clutching his stomach. He felt his fingernails digging into his sides as he spat up something bad-tasting. 

The world started spinning and he couldn't make out left or right anymore. He stretched a hand out in front of him, only for it to fall limp. His head hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was the poison or the bottle that contained it. He leaned further across the arm of his chair and vomited again. Only this time it was blood red.

The tunnel vision took hold of him and wouldn't stop constricting his vision until he finally blacked out.

Mould. Smell. Pain. Touch. Ticking. Hearing. Grian awoke with a gasp. It all felt like a dream. It felt real, but it wasn't. It couldn't be. Why would he be passed out in a dark, mouldy room? He looked around. There was a clock sitting daintily atop a shelf that looked like it risked falling any moment. There was a moth-eaten blanket in the corner, along with a stained pillow. And a single light, dangling precariously from the top of the room.

He got up slowly, taking great care as he did so. He stretched simultaneously his wings and his back once he was fully upright and briefly glanced around the room again. He felt a sharp pain across his torso, causing him to lift his shirt delicately to check the damage. 

There were several cuts, scratches, and bruises lining his skin. In a way it was almost beautiful. But it hurt like hell. Oh, and one more thing. The axe wound was open again. Maybe two more things, his wings were purple again.

Y'all I'll do a part two eventually I'm sorry if it's too fast for your liking idk how to make it go fast without being too fast

(HA few months later me here no I'm never doing a part two to this I have no idea where I was going with this so uhhhh sorry about that (I'll do a part two if someone requests it but if nobody wants one I'm not making one))