The Crossover (A Hermitcraft Story)

Part 1

As Grian woke up from his well-deserved sleep, he grabbed his elytra and rockets from his inventory groggily and flew out of the unrepaired creeper hole still standing strongly on the concrete of Grian's base. After a few failed attempts at maneuvering out due to his sleepiness he finally succeeded in overcoming his weariness and rocketed out of his base. 

The shopping district was relatively void of hermits today - usually, there would be a frantic Mumbo combing Cherry for redstone, or a Tango collecting his daily profits from his rocket business, or an X-ee-S-you-ma buying his share of building materials. It was the quiet that unnerved him, the lack of life dotted around the landscape. As he landed next to Doc's drowned who proceeded to impale Grian with his trident, he ran away and looked down at his clock in his inventory. A few minutes before the episode, Grian thought. Gives me more than enough time than to profit and to restock. He flew over to his explosive shop and his mustache remover, which both yielded no result. He flew over Sahara, knowing Iskall would go ballistic if he stole the diamonds from the payment box again. 

His brow cold with sweat from a near-death scenario with a misplaced rocket. With his mission accomplished, he proceeded to venture through the nether hub for his destination.

It was when Grian saw it.

The pickle shop, standing in all its glory, graffiti dotting the walls, looked as sad as ever with its cobweb strewn glasses and the melancholic smile ironically built. Dust covered the top not unlike a curtain of dandruff, as Grian did a 360° elytra turn to face the abandoned pickle. He smiled sadly.

"Hello again," Grian muttered, recalling his first few episodes. "Such a long time. I wonder..." Grian strode in casually, wondering if he had made any sales in the long-forgotten shop.

As he swam through the pun-riddled waters, the chests yielded results far superior to that of his other shops. A few diamonds littered here or there - free money couldn't hurt him, after all.

He burst out of the elevator holding a few of the dusty stones. He blew the dust off gently and stored it in his ender chest, safe and sound. Now, there was only one problem.

"I'm quite sure I've made an exit here somewhere," Grian muttered under his breath, recalling the few - casualties - caused by the lack of an exit. Doc and him joked about it over the weeks, recalling the fatal incident of Doc trying use his elyta but failing spectacularly. He made sure to never visit the shop again without any scaffolding after that.

After searching for a while and realizing he did indeed not make an exit as muddle-minded as he was. Scanning his inventory, he forgot to bring any scaffolding, though it did contain a few suspicious miscellaneous items Grian had no idea how it winded up into his inventory, like a dragon egg, 14 red glass panes, twenty roses, a boat and 23 pieces of diorite renamed 'Iskall'. Grian chuckled, as his mind formed a plan. It was his shop, after all, and no one really comes to the place anymore. He headed to the corner, camera down, and started to build up using the Iskallity diorite. As he reached the nexus of the shop and the entrance, he hugged the walls, mining blocks that got in his way. He replaced the green and lime terracotta, but being the spoon-fork he was, it ended up looking slightly more square than before. As he walked up the oak stairs, he dropped his dragon egg and as a result, tripped over it, face planting the stairs. He groaned, got up, and proceeded to use his pickaxe to mine the egg. It didn't work due to minecraft logic, and Grian, cursing himself into non-existence for his spoonish behaviour, forgot to bring his redstone box with him. The dragon egg would just have to stay there for the time being.

Of course, as soon as he got up, he tripped over the egg again.

However, this time, Grian noticed something odd. As his face kissed the ground, he heard not the usual thunk of a Grian hitting stairs. He heard a clang, a weird noise to be resonated from a wooden block. Rapping his fists on another stair and then again on the odd one, he heard a significantly more hollow sound in the latter. He pulled his axe out, successfully reducing what was once a block to ashes. He looked down, and his face contorted from curiosity - to disbelief - to horror - to fear.

Poultry man, his old friend, lay unconscious in a chamber, blood splattered on the walls.

Grian dropped his axe, which landed with a thud next to Poultry man.

Upon closer inspection, a certain tattoo was ironed under his friend's left wing.

A vex.

Grian hissed.

"A... vex." He said slowly. His face contorted into anger, cheeks and neck red.

"The Convex."