Phew... I keep jumping around, but I need to get to this next arc after highlighting a few things... (If I'm being fully honest, I don't have much inspiration for s6 aside from what I've already written.)

But for now, I've got more fanart to share. This time, it was made by someone named FoxalotlWrites on AO3. I'll post the link here and in the comments:  https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/923382380/

Anyways, please enjoy!: 

✧✰✧

Grian never meant to start a war.

It started little by little. A silly game he had created. A lost trident. A familiar prank involving obsidian once played on him long ago. He had misspoken, named Iskall the winner when it should have been False. A changed sign began to snowball matters. By the time he had realized, it had been too late; his revenge had been enacted on the wrong person. Another flipped prank, but this time he took the brunt of it. As things continued to pick up speed, he had begun to find sides drawn between many of the server members. It was a civil war and... admittedly, he had been the one to start it.

Grian had never been one for a restful night. But more and more, his nightmares contained memories of his Watcher days, of the senseless wars he watched time and time again. In those days, he tried his best to avoid looking, but that didn't stop the others from commenting. They always spoke of how senseless players were in that aspect; even Miesall's favorite story centered around a war. That's just how they are, they would say. Attempting to breed one day, ready to kill the next.

"G?" A voice asked, snapping him right out of his thoughts. It was only then that he had realized Cleo, who sat directly across of him at the table, had been staring at him for some time now. Scratch that, all the rest of the G team. "You listening?"

"I— was just... thinking," He replied. It technically wasn't a lie. He shook his head. "I mean— do we really want to do this?" He may not have been listening for the past few minutes, but he knew the plan basics. They were building their defenses and offenses for when the white flag came down. And when it did... it meant there would be blood.

Joe gave a nod. "Of course. We can't stop now." He assured, determination in his voice.

"They'll be out there, waiting for a fight." Tango agreed. He had rested his fist against his cheek almost boredly, as though attempting to kill one of two of his best friends was nothing to him. "We need to be on our guard."

Grian nodded ever slowly, gulping. "Too late to forgive and forget then..." he muttered, finding himself taking a cookie even though he wasn't hungry at all. He really regretted having let it get this far; especially pulling Jumbo into the mess. He was too innocent for war.

"Exactly right." Iskall agreed with a nod. "Grian, don't you remember how they murdered your-- er, Poultry Man's chicken?!"

Grian supposed they were right, but still... for as close they had all been, he couldn't believe things had gotten this out of hand.

"I propose this:" Tango began, moving to stand now. He glanced at Grian, the man who was supposed to be the leader of this team, then to the mini armor stands meant to depict them on the table. He began to run over his plan, moving the pieces as he spoke.

The plan was... fine enough, Grian supposed, though with such a pit in his stomach, he hardly cared. In the very least, no one on his team had intent to perma-kill... so far. That didn't mean Team Star didn't, or that it would stop escalating just out of nowhere.

He found himself rather quiet throughout all the discussion as everyone else seemed to rile themselves up. It was almost as though they thought such bloodshed was some kind of game. Most of them were smiling, even laughing.

There would be traps. Land mines. The battlefield would be covered in fire. And that's just the stuff Grian knew about. With someone such as Doc on the other team, there was no telling what would truly happen. Maybe the universe itself would shatter with his contraption.

In any case, he didn't think the others quite noticed how he retreated into himself. Perhaps it was because they had first met this side of him: quiet, shy and reserved. Maybe it was because they had gotten too excited by the prospect of war. But regardless, his pitiful attempt to stop it all was futile. And so, the day in which the flag would come down drew ever closer...

✧✰✧

The wind whipped Grian's hair back now. No longer long, the wind could not carry it, just play with it just a little. He found himself wearing ancient garb, modeled after styles even older than he was. British military regalia, complete with a formal beret. He, Stress and Cleo each wore this outfit. Each of his other teammates also wore the uniform of their ancestry, which they traced back to when the universe was much smaller... confined to only a few hundred worlds, even.

On the other side of the flag, flapping in the wind, was Team Star. They looked much more unified in their matching outfits. They looked great on each of them, with exception to Mumbo. For one reason or another, the helmet managed to cover everything but his mustache. His teammates were poking fun at him as a result, as if this was just an ordinary day.

"And who are you supposed to be?" Wels asked Iskall, a scoff in his tone. The man especially stood out with his dark blue uniform.

"Me? I'm a Swede, obviously!" Iskall defended to Wels and the other mockers. To his surprise, even one or two of his own teammates joined in with the mocking.

"Guys, guys." Doc began, stepping forward. There was something about his tone that made both sides get quiet. "We should remember why we're all here." His gaze went pointedly to the flag, still standing.

"O-or..." Grian found himself stuttering. He found that either he had approached the flag, or his team had stepped back, leaving him to act once more as the leader. "Maybe it could stay up?" He gave a sort of awkward smile. "You know... building a blender was great and all, but... maybe we could all be friends and put this behind us, yeah?" Admittedly, he hardly agreed with his own pathetic argument.

Something about what he had said was apparently funny to the creeper hybrid, who chuckled menacingly as his replaced eye glowed an ominous red. "No, no Grian... I think it's rather more fun this way." He took an axe from his inventory before giving it a good spin. He turned around, holding it up in the air. "Now, who wants to do the honors?"

"Doc!!" Grian called, beginning to feel panic rise up in his chest, his heart beginning to pound in the prison called ribs, trying to free itself. He couldn't possibly watch as this server truly went to war. And to think, this all happened because of him! If he hadn't been so incredibly stupid to think he could just live a normal, happy life. To think he could ever be a normal, peaceful human... but he left a path of destruction everywhere he went.

He ruined things. He left his friends. He got Miesall killed. He took the nicest people he had ever met and split them right down the middle.

Oh... right. Doc was staring at him. He didn't look quite as mad now, more like he was plotting something. Frowning, he glanced back at the others, waiting for Grian to continue. His men were just a bit too far to hear their quiet conversation.

"Please listen... There has to be another way." He pleaded. "We— we're family, aren't we?"

Doc sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. And just as the ex-Watcher thought that he might have reached someone, it was all too late. For in that moment, from the sky rained TNT. Both of the leaders were thrown back to their parties, Stress and Cleo catching Grian.

"What— what was that?" The winged man asked, trying to rid himself of the white spots of his vision as he tried to look to the sky.

"It was Cub!" Tango hissed, his hair more aflame than usual. "Seriously, those Vexsters couldn't even wait for the flag to go down on their own!" He shook his head in sheer fury, making what almost sounded like a laugh.

"Let's hurry back, y'all." Joe interrupted them all, already back peddling. He saw in the distance, his enemies were doing the same. Time was of the essence.

Grian took a shuddering breath, the panic in him rising even more. His teammates had begun to retreat, leaving him to stand there. He watched as Doc hurried to catch up to his own team, only sparing him a quick glare just before he caught up.

"You coming, Grian?" Stress called from where she was. "We gotta hurry!"

The man had to force his legs to move. He nearly had to pick them up off the ground with his arms since they seemed to have refused to do so. It was about as easy as telling a tree to walk. If Stress noticed this though, she kept it to herself.

By the time that he had gotten to the meeting room, everyone else had already sat down. That was, aside from Stress who had dragged just a bit as well.

Things were said. Going over the plan again, from what Grian could tell, but he just didn't have the heart to listen to hardly any of it.

He felt his heart beat ever increasing, worry buzzing through his veins and panic settling on his skin like snowflakes. He felt both cold, and was still very acutely aware of the sweat beginning to pour out of him as though he were in Hels itself. Even his wings, which at some point had decided to wrap around him, seemed to be sweating if such a thing was possible.

This couldn't be happening. He tried to steady his breathing, but he simply couldn't.

"—ou ready Grian?" A voice asked, snapping him out of his trance with a touch to his shoulder. Not that it made him feel any better, just aware that time was still marching on regardless of his feelings. It was only Stress there with him now, the others leaving to take their positions.

"Y-Yeah..." he nodded, forcing himself to stand up even though he wanted to puke.

"Then come on!" She exclaimed with a murderous smile, grabbing him by the hand to pull him in tow. He stumbled as a result, but he didn't tip over. "This is going to be fun!" Her demeanor was nothing short of deadly.

"R...right..." Grian said, almost feeling the traces of the lie course through his veins. Already, he had trouble focusing on the moment even though he tried.

Stress must have not bought the lie because she only giggled. "Oh Grian, it's going to be great! You'll see!" And with that, quickened the pace to where their horses waited for them.

The next thing Grian knew, they were on the battlefield. Hermits chased one another, swords clashing together in a show of dominance. Thanks to Tango and Impulse, the field was encased in fire and arrows.

Enemy and friendly, it was hard to dodge them as he pushed his horse that little bit faster. Or could it be that the horse was operating on it own accord? He was too distracted to really direct it, rubbernecking at all the individual battles going on.

As Xisuma vanished into nothingness, he forced himself to breathe slowly. (Or tried to, at least. It wasn't very effective.) It wasn't a perma death. It wasn't a death that lasted forever and ever, an eternal goodbye. That he would never see Xisuma ever again, even though he had an unlimited amount of eyes and a near infinite amount of years to live. This wasn't a cruel intervention. This wasn't one of those conflicts that finished with crumpled feathers dripping with a thick purple liquid, a body that met its demise all too soon. This wasn't a serious war yet.

That's the lie he told himself. He didn't buy it, quite the opposite. His vision blurred and more and more, he relied on the horse to move him, unsure and uncaring where it was going. He could register the figures chasing each other, but he hardly recognized them anymore. He felt how an arrow stabbed the thick of his wing, but then again, he didn't care. If there was one person who would survive this blood bath, it would be him almost certainly.

His heart squeezed itself, as though it was attempting to take him out of his misery. His head pounded and he was subconsciously aware of the way that sweat had made his wings slick.

Panicking. He was panicking again, he was well aware of this fact, but that knowledge didn't help him any. After all, even if he could calm down, they were still doomed to die. And it was all his fault. He had ruined this paradise, like he ruined every place he had ever been. It was all his fault. 

"—an? —ou— me?" A voice said somewhere in the distance. Grian had to swim through the sea of his thoughts to get his eyes to actually see. Not that he couldn't, that he was blind, but with such mental stimulation, his brain was so low on energy to interpret what light hit his eyes. Similarly, he was not deaf, but he could not hear.

"Y...yeah...?" He somehow managed to ask, his own voice sounding a thousand blocks away. The blurry form in front of him was mostly black. Mumbo.

"-ou can —ear me... thank goodness..." Mumbo sighed as he came into the Ex-Watcher's vision. "Are you alright?"

"H... how could I be alright?" Was his staggered reply. His heart beat wildly in his chest, blood pumping through his ears. Even now, he has to claw to keep Mumbo in focus. "I— I ruined everything!!" He couldn't help but burst into tears. The Brit gave him a weird look before glancing to the mouth of the cave they were in. Maybe a sound has alerted him.

"—ruined?" He asked as he looked back at Grian. "What do you mean, mate? You didn--"

"Of course I did!!" Grian heard himself say. He must have yelled it, because the man in front of him flinched. He was gasping for air now, trying and failing to breathe. It had even been easier to breathe when he was submerged for a hundred years. For as much as he hated his magic, in that moment he wished for innate ability to not need to breathe again. "Mumbo, don't you see what's happening out there? They--" he pointed at a random direction, gesturing to the wall as his breathing somehow picked up even more. "Theyhateeachotheranditsallmyfaultand--"

"Woah, woah!" the other exclaimed, his palms up as though to show that he meant no harm. "Grian, breathe!" The spoon had clearly not understood what he was saying, not feeling the crushing weight of the worlds bearing down on him. But alas, for the man that had saved him and sat through so many of his meltdowns, he tried his best to listen. As always, Mumbo began giving highly exaggerated breaths, taking in so much air that he looked like he swallowed an activated piston before slowly decompressing it all. He did so again and again, and Grian tried his best to follow along even though he could swear that he was going to die right on the spot from doing so.

It was after a few minutes before Mumbo tentatively spoke again. His hands had begun to fidget on his lap the moment he stopped taking deep breaths. The man always seemed to be visibly on edge, never able to sit still. Grian had learned over time that was just who he was. "Now G... uh, what's wrong?"

"Mumbo, it's--" He began to say. Everything in him wanted to go back to spiraling where he had been not even five minutes ago. He hadn't even stopped crying, but why would he? Regardless of his personal feelings, one thing was clear: there was a war going on. He had to take another shuddering breath to not just word dump all over again. "--They hate each other! And it's all my fault!" A bit of anger stirred in him. How could Mumbo be such a spoon that he didn't care about this at all?

The man's eyes widened. "Grian, you don't think--?!" He gasped at the realization, covering his mouth. "It's a game, G! We're not actually fighting each other. Did you-- did you think we were actually going to like, an actual war with each other? Oh Voids, he thought we were going to war! Well, I suppose we are, but in a fun way... not in a evil way..."

And suddenly, it all stopped. The racing heartbeat. The sweat pouring out of places that shouldn't sweat. The crying. The hyperventilation. For a moment, he felt absolutely nothing. He slowly became subconsciously aware of the way heat was fleeting from his body as he paled, and how he no longer breathed at all. It took a good few moments to break through it yet again, Mumbo continuing to mutter things to himself all the while. "--- A game--?" He nearly choked. There came the tears right again, and before he knew it, he was tight in the taller man's embrace. Shame, embarrassment and relief now all came roaring into him at once as he began bawling for reasons he could hardly understand himself. He clung to the suit as he felt a hand rubbing his back, just between his wings.

"That's right, G... We-- we were just having fun. We weren't actually ever mad at each other." He didn't think, but thankfully for once he kept his thoughts on the inside of his mind. In any case, the later didn't matter because the former was true.

Shivering, trembling, crying. Those sensations rippled across Grian's frame, the mixture of emotions being far too much for him to contain. Ashamed for being so utterly stupid to not realize. To find himself stuck being an utter crybaby yet again. Joy from hearing that he hadn't ruined everything yet again. Anger -- anger at someone, maybe himself, that he had just gone on believing that this was the end of the world when everyone else was happy. An overflow of stress. Maybe a hundred other things had made him the sobbing mess that he was, but regardless, he couldn't stop it. Not at all. And through it all, just as he always had, Mumbo simply held him and rubbed his back, listening to whatever blubbering fell out of his mouth.

Even he wasn't sure what came out of his mouth. All of his stresses, worries, fears the last few weeks or months or years. How he was afraid that this really was it, that the paradise was coming to an end. That he managed to ruin things yet again, that he knew he was making a mistake for ever stepping foot into this group of servers. For putting such incredible people in danger. Because the reality was, no matter where he went, he brought death, destruction and pain.

And Mumbo -- what did Grian ever do to deserve him-- stayed and listened the best he could like he always did. He wasn't judgmental like the Watchers, whom would openly talk about his weakness among each other and bring up his inferiority to him. He was just... there, willing to lend an ear and hold this crying avian. The ongoing festivities slowly faded from mind and eventually, the man cried himself asleep right in Jumbo's arms.

✧✰✧

Reasonably, the next few days Grian was pretty shaken up. The idea of a war game hadn't sat right with him, and after much talking, the game was changed into something much more game-like. Capture the flag, it was decided. And though Grian had a few breakdowns throughout the month-long event, overall he had a good time with his friends.

If he had only been in a better mental state, perhaps he would have caught onto the very crucial detail that he had missed, one that no one else would possibly know to look for.