Chapter Text
Mumbo whistled, taking a few steps back to fully take the whole thing in. "That's a pretty big portal you've got here, mate."
"I know," Grian preened.
And it was; big, that is. Scar had to crane his neck so much that it hurt, to be able to see the top. There were lots of different portals on Hermitcraft, many larger than the typical 4x5, in a variety of shapes — but this one, surely, beat all of them. It was a twisting, branching thing, embedded into stone. That was another thing that made it so much different, disregarding the hard, glassy surface instead of the swirling purples indicative of an active portal; as far as Scar could see, there was absolutely no trace of obsidian to be seen.
Honestly, as impressive as it was, he had doubts if it—
"And it, it really works?" Mumbo asked doubtfully, stealing the words right out of his mouth. "Because, to be honest with you, mate, it looks kinda— It looks like glass. Just, a bunch of purple glass. Maybe some blocks. How deep does this thing even go?"
"Hey," Grian protested, pouting. His feathers fluffed up in offense. It was adorable. "Of course it works! I think."
Mumbo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"You think?"
"Oh, give me a break—"
"What happens if I touch it?" Scar interrupted, taking a couple of steps closer, already reaching out towards the (alleged) portal. He paused, "Oh, sorry, did I cut you off? My bad, my bad. Please, carry on."
"Uh," Grian blinked, his wings dropping slightly from their defensive position. Scar, feeling a little bad about interrupting him so rudely, gave him an embarrassed smile and motioned for him to continue. "I guess I wasn't really going to say anything important...? I mean, of course it looks like glass, I made it of glass—" ah. "—what else could it look like? But, see, it's literally— it's like a block deep. You can check yourself, if you don't believe me!"
Mumbo took out a pickaxe.
"I think I will, I think I will."
Grian shot him a dirty look, but other than that, decided to ignore him. "Anyway. It shouldn't look so deep, you know? You should definitely be able to see the stone behind it. And it feels so weird, too! Doesn't it feel weird to you?"
Scar, who had been watching Mumbo as he started to mine the stone near to the Rift's edge, blinked and turned to look at where Grian pointed. He had to lean back slightly to avoid getting hit by the avian's frustrated gesticulations.
"Not really," he shrugged, squinting sceptically at the Rift. It really was quite deep, though frozen still like no portal ever was. He had no idea what Grian was talking about.
Mumbo, though, paused. "I mean..." he hesitated.
Grian immediately honed in on him.
"You feel it too, right, Mumbo?" he pressed. "You should, I think. Since I do, and you ate my soul—"
"Are you ever going to let this go?"
"Never."
"I think I I'm gonna touch it," Scar decided, totally ignoring the little spat they had going on. And so he did.
"Wait, Scar—"
"I really don't think that's—"
Scar's palm made contact with the glass blocks. He had a second to appreciate the cool texture, which was, perhaps, just a little too cold. And then something like an electric current zapped him and Scar jumped back with a hiss, clutching his tingling fingers, and Grian made an odd noise as some sort of rumbling-whooshing-shrieking sound came from the Rift that made colors dance in front of his eyes and Scar barely had the time to think oh, it really is a portal, before—
"—wise," Mumbo finished, defeated, and if he had anything else to add, Scar didn't hear it.
Everything went white.
Director Nicholas Fury didn't believe in such a thing as good days. If something could go wrong, it would, without a doubt — be it a small, largely inconsequential thing or a world-ending disaster, either way his day would be ruined. Or so said Murphy's Law.
This time, it started with a blinking red dot.
(Looking at the priority alert overtaking his personal computer's screen, expression rapidly souring, Fury knew this was not going to be the a-new-recruit-got-my-coffee-order-wrong-and-now-I-have-to-drink-this-sickeningly-sweet-monstrosity-that's-far-more-milk-than-caffeine-than-it-should-be kind of an inconvenience. Because Murphy's Law so enjoyed kicking him right in the teeth when he'd least expected it.)
You see, after the shitshow that was Loki's arrival and the battle of New York, SHIELD had implemented sensors that would alert them if any instance of an energy spike that was in any way, shape or form even remotely similar to the Tesseract took place, no matter where in the world it happened. So when these exact sensors started screeching about something big, much bigger than Loki and not nearly enough smaller than the portal the Chitauri had come out of had read, suddenly popping up in the middle of Antarctica in the early hours of a Tuesday morning—
There was no warning. His agents were unable to dig anything up, be it from conspiracy theorist boards or official government files — nothing that could explain what was happening, give a single clue as to who was building a goddamned portal in the middle of fucking South Pole and what for. Nothing good, that's for sure.
The Tesseract was supposedly on Asgard alongside the wannabe conqueror, so unless there had been a breakout Thor hadn't seen fit to inform them about or something else, something new and therefore far more dangerous, was afoul—
Fury wasn't about to take any chances. They were still cleaning up the rubble from the invasion, still digging up bodies out of the destroyed buildings — the fear, the paranoia, were still fresh, the wounds not yet scabbed over. The Avengers had proven successful in the battle against the Chitauri, and if there was even the slightest risk that Loki's big-bad-conqueror-of-planets-bow-before-me-you-worthless-vermin villain plot wasn't over, that putting the Tesseract on top of the Stark Tower and creating a bottle-neck portal that didn't allow him to overwhelm them with the numbers he had if Stark's report was to be believed as any self-respecting tactician would do on purpose was a diversion, his capture meant to lull them all into a false sense of security—
It would make sense. And even if it didn't, Fury couldn't afford to ignore the possibility, no matter how unlikely or not. Earth couldn't afford it.
So, like any rational man with a team of semi-competent powerhouses on hand and the world's fate riding on their ability to deal with extraterrestrial threats, Fury called the Avengers and told them to get their asses up and ready for a flight to Antarctica, effective immediately. They complained about the short notice and the South Pole, Nick, really? In winter? and how some of us have actual jobs they gotta do, you know, but even Stark shut up in record speed when he mentioned the Tesseract, energy spikes and possible portal openings in one sentence.
Not even an hour since the initial alert went out, the Avengers, sans Thor who was currently off-planet and therefore out of contact, were all geared up and shuffled aboard the Quinjet, expected to land in the general vicinity of where the portal supposedly was in about seventeen odd hours — hopefully in time to stop whatever horrible thing was about to crawl out of it into Earthen soil this time.
Stiffly monitoring the energy readings, which continued to grow steadily, easily surpassing their estimated heights by the minute, Fury couldn't find it in himself to be much optimistic.
Even before his vision was finally cleared of spots, the first thing Scar became aware of after his very accidental, totally not intentional activation of Grian's shiny new portal was cold. An icy chill swiftly swept through his whole body, reaching as deep as his bones, touching his very soul with its bony, frostbitten fingers. Scar shuddered, his teeth clanking together. Katy Bee clung tighter to his back, the sharp edges of her limbs digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise, vwooping quietly in discomfort.
Scar gently patted her tibia in commiseration, blinking away the afterimages obscuring his sight. He, too, wasn't happy about being so suddenly dropped in a snow biome — at least the Nether was warm! This was most certainly not the Nether.
No, not even close. As far as Scar could see, snow stretched out into the distance, covering the ground that alternated between flat plains and steep mountains — not that he could see much, honestly, considering how dark it was.
A shiver ran down his spine and Scar palmed his sword. This time, it had little to do with the cold.
"Where are we?" Mumbo groaned, his teeth chattering so badly it made the words near impossible to understand. Scar sympathised. His outfit really wasn't fit for this weather and he couldn't imagine Mumbo's suit being much better.
They lived in warm biomes, for Mojang's sake, they weren't prepared for snow! Where did Grian's portal spit them out?!
"I have no clue, but it's freezing cold," Grian whined, drawing his wings close around him. "I can't feel my toes."
"At least you have a sweater," Mumbo shut him down, scowling as he fidgeted with his hands, his own wings twitching violently by his sides as they awkwardly copied Grian's movement. Scar wished he had wings, too. They were like a giant portable blanket, always attached to your back and able to warm you up. Gods. "A woolen sweater. Which is warm. Wool is warm. Void, I wish I had wool."
Scar sighed, shoving his hands under his jacket in an attempt to stave off the cold, and stared enviously at Grian. Seriously, Mumbo had the right idea. A thick, woolen sweater sounded absolutely lovely right about now.
His gaze turned considering. How hard would it be to convince Grian to part with the garment? It was a little small, maybe, but surely—
"Sure doesn't feel warm right now," Grian grumbled, burying his face in his headwings like in a scarf. He caught Scar's eyes and glared. "I told you not to touch. And what did you do?"
Scar bristled, "You definitely did not! You said nothing about not touching your big swirly whirly portal thingy, only that it was made of glass and, and probably didn't even work—"
"I did not—!"
"Guys," Mumbo interjected, and Scar really didn't mean to ignore him, honest, but he was too caught up in his argument with Grian to pay attention to what he was trying to say. Or anything else, really. "Guys, I really don't think—"
"Did too!"
"Did not! Scar, I swear to Void—"
"GUYS!" Mumbo shouted, frustrated, his wings mantled behind him. Grian's head snapped towards him with a low hiss and even Scar stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. Mumbo didn't raise his voice often, not like this, so it was a bit startling to hear him yell. "It's night! Do you really think we should stand here and argue while anything can sneak up on us?! We don't even know where we are! And I can't check our coordinates, because my comm is not working and I don't know why, and this—!" he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, nearly slapping Scar with his wing "—is not! Helping!"
By the end of it, he was breathing heavily, his wings rising and falling along with his shoulders. Mumbo looked genuinely upset by the whole thing, which, Scar couldn't blame him. Poor guy couldn't have expected to be thrown into the middle of the coldest snow biome to exist in the entire server, and as if that wasn't enough, it was already night! The portal must've knocked them out or something — who knew how much time they've lost?
And it was all Scar's fault, too. He felt a sharp pang of guilt stab through his chest.
"Sorry, Mumbo," he murmured, sheepish. His cheeks stung, but he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or embarrassment. "You're right. We did get carried away here a little, didn't we, Grian?"
But Grian, in a true Grian fashion, was focused on something different entirely.
"What do you mean, your communicator's not working?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing into thin slits, before he ducked his head under his wings to — most likely — fiddle with the band around his own wrist.
Wait. Mumbo's comm's what?
"It means, that it's not working," Mumbo snapped. "I don't know what you want me to say, Grian. It's just not turning on! There's not even sparks or, or anything, it's just a blank screen!"
"Well, that doesn't sound good," Scar said, frowning. These things were near indestructible, able to withstand even a creeper's blast or a multiple end crystals explosion without so much as a scratch! And hacking into them was something very few people could do without getting their hands on one, as deeply embedded into a Player's code as they were. For one to break...
It must've been quite a dire situation, indeed. Scar swallowed around a lump in his throat, hugging himself tighter. Only because he was cold. Absolutely for no other reason.
Katy Bee chittered quietly at his back, her mandibles brushing against his neck. His shoulders relaxed, just a little bit.
Grian swore, hard and vicious. Scar jumped and exchanged a startled, almost incredulous look with Mumbo.
Grian never swore.
"Mine too," he said. For a brief, blissful moment, Scar didn't understand what he was referring to — and then his blood froze in his veins, completely unrelated to the current temperature. "Mumbo, my comm isn't turning on either. Mumbo, what does that mean?"
"I, I don't—" Mumbo swallowed. His face looked paler than normal. "But that's, that's not good at all. Is it— Do you think the, the Rift, maybe—?"
"I don't know," Grian said, shaking his head. He was trembling even worse than before. "I don't know. Scar," he abruptly turned to him, his eyes wide and frantic, "Scar, check your comm."
Scar didn't want to check his comm.
"Wha—w-why? Just because yours are malfunk— malfuncioning doesn't mean there's anything wrong with mine!" he protested. "I really don't think—"
"Check your comm, Scar," Grian ground out, not even letting him finish, which, rude. Scar was making his case over there!
He opened his mouth to tell him just that, when—
"Scar, please," Mumbo said, and Scar made the deadly mistake of looking at him. "Just give it a quick check, alright? We need coordinates anyway, and since mine and Grian's are both down..."
Scar so hated it when Mumbo made sense. All protests died on his tongue, his shoulders sagging.
"Alright, alright, fine," his face twisted briefly, and he looked away with a huff. "I'll check."
"Thank you, mate," Mumbo smiled feebly at him. Grian scoffed.
"Whatever."
Reluctantly, Scar pulled his left arm out of its cover, biting his lips at the chill that immediately set in. His fingers were starting to look a little blue near the ends and he could barely feel them, which couldn't mean anything good. This snow biome was definitely colder than what he remembered it should be. Ugh.
He felt their eyes boring into him as he focused on his comm, wrapped snuggly around his wrist as it always was. It made the hair on his neck stand. A terrible feeling of foreboding settled over him and Scar took a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the heavy, twisting weight in his guts. His comm was fine. It would turn on, and they would get the coords and be on their way to Hermitcraft proper. They just had to know which direction to pick. It was fine. It was fine.
So what if Mumbo's and Grian's comms weren't working? Scar was built different. Literally. Just because they'd caught some kind of a bug, it didn't mean Scar had to have it, too. His comm was working. It was working just fine.
It had to be. There was no way— It couldn't be damaged. It simply couldn't.
"Well?" Grian demanded, impatient. "It didn't turn on, did it? Our comms are out. They're—"
"No they aren't," Scar snapped, glaring at him. "I didn't even do anything yet, give me some time here! And of course it's going to turn out, I mean, why wouldn't it?" he laughed.
It sounded strained even to his own ears.
"Well then hurry up! I'm cold!"
"We're all cold, G, you aren't special."
"I didn't say I was—"
"Guys, can we please get back on track?" Mumbo begged.
He was looking more and more pitiful by the minute, trembling in the harsh wind. His hair was so covered in snow it looked white — as did his feathers. Honestly, Grian didn't look that much better. And likely neither did Scar.
Well, now Scar felt bad.
"Fine, fine," he grumbled, heaving a sigh. "I'm checking."
"About time."
Graciously ignoring Grian, Scar turned on his communication. And then turned it on again. And again. And again.
The screen remained as dark as the Void.
"Well," Scar swallowed. He wished his teeth would stop chattering. He had a difficult enough time pronouncing some words without this additional handicap. "Well, we seem to be in a bit of a pickle here, folks."
"It's not working, is it," Grian said flatly.
"Nope!"
"Great," he bit out. "Great, that's just— that's just amazing, isn't it? Just perfect. Void, what are we gonna do now?"
"Pick a direction and start walking?" Scar shrugged.
"In this weather?" Mumbo protested, incredulous. "At night?"
Scar folded immediately.
"You're absolutely right. Uh, how about we dig out a hole, get in and wait till it's morning? Then we can pick a direction and hope for the best!"
Grian sighed. "I mean, it's not like anyone has a better idea, right?"
So that's what they did.
The job of actually digging the hole was delegated to Scar on the account that Grian suddenly remembered the Rift should theoretically be still near here somewhere and promptly went looking for it, and Mumbo, as the redstone expert on hand, was convinced to take a look at the broken comms. They weren't redstone, but both of these things were complicated to the Nether and back, so at least some of the skill should've transferred over, right? Right.
Out of the three of them, Mumbo had the most luck to find anything anyway. At the very least, he wouldn't make it worse.
Before starting to dig, they build a bit of a barrier around themselves to keep out the worst of the wind. It wasn't the nicest of things, made entirely out of snow — since it was the only thing they had on hand here, besides a couple of odd blocks in their inventories but why bother, honestly, when the resources were right there? it was all only temporary, after all — and four blocks tall with a pathetic excuse of a roof. Grian grimaced horribly when he saw it and Scar was rather put out by it, too, but oh well. There were more important things to take care of first, you know?
Like getting out of the snow. And to get out of the snow, they had to dig to the stone, which, while still cold, was nowhere near as freezing as sleeping in a little coffin made out of frozen water would be. It should've been easy enough. Right?
Wrong.
"Why is it so dark, anyway?" Scar wondered absentmindedly, clearing out the thick layer of snow with a shovel Mumbo had lend him. It went far deeper than he had expected it to and started to get harder the further he went. Would it help if he switched over to a pickaxe? It wasn't stone, it wasn't even ice, exactly, but...
What kind of a name was even 'compacted snow'? Did Xisuma update the server while they weren't looking or something? But no — no new version had been officially announced since the last one, he didn't think, and they already had that. And what about voting, too? It seemed like the kind of a decision that required a vote, and they always did one! Besides, he didn't recall such a block ever existing and Scar knew his blocks very well, thank you!
It was so weird.
"What do you mean?" Mumbo asked, confused. Scar could almost see the tilt of his head.
"It's night, Scar, of course it's dark," Grian scoffed, snow crunching under his feet as he walked away. Quieter, from further away, "What kind of a question is that?"
"No, no, I know that— I mean, why is it night, you know?" he elaborated, despite knowing Grian was probably too far to hear him now. But Mumbo still could! He was answering Mumbo's question! "Wouldn't Bdubs just skip it? He always skips the night. Or literally anyone else, if he can't, for whatever reason. So," he spread his hands, despite the fact neither Grian or Mumbo could see him inside the hole, "why is it still night?"
There was a moment of silence. Scar placed another torch on the wall, and briefly worried if he were alone. Did Mumbo go with Grian and he just hadn't noticed?
"You're right," Mumbo finally said with dawning horror, like he'd only just realized something but wasn't done processing it quite yet. Scar, suddenly, felt awfully uncomfortable. "They should've skipped it already. Why didn't they skip it?"
"I am sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that," Scar quickly backtracked. Void, he didn't mean for his question to upset Mumbo. Grian was right; it was pretty dumb anyway. "Maybe someone keeps breaking his bed! You know how the Hermits are like about pranks, you know? Maybe that's it! Or, or they're doing some kind of a challenge? It could be anything, really! Anything reasonable, yeah."
"Right," Mumbo took a deep breath, his wings rustling. Scar couldn't really see him from down there, and he fought down the urge to climb back up right away and reassure him in person. Void, he really screwed it up with that one comment, didn't he? "Right, you're— you're right. That's probably what's going on. Sorry I freaked out a bit here, mate."
"It's all good," Scar dismissed. "No need to apologize. If anything, I'm sorry for— you know. Bringing it up."
"Right," Mumbo repeated. He cleared his throat, "Uh, did you hit stone yet?"
"Nope!" Scar reported cheerfully. "No stone yet. But I've got this new block, compacted snow, it's pretty cool. Get it? Because—"
"Because it's cold, yeah, I got it," he laughed. Ha! Mission accomplished successfully. "It's kinda weird, isn't it? How much snow there is, I mean."
"I'm sure it's nothing," Scar brushed him off and, after brief hesitation, switched over to a pickaxe. He was still getting drops of this compacted snow thing, but it broke a little easier now.
He carefully didn't give a voice to any of the dark, uneasy thoughts churning with dread in his head. No need to worry anyone with this sort of thing. It was just his anxiety and overactive imagination talking, anyway, and both Mumbo and Grian had enough of it on their own already.
He kept mining.