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Someone was using the whistle tone, and whoever it was, they were going to face Cleo’s fury.
The Hermits knew not to use the whistle tone. It was a specific tone that aggravated all zombies in the nearby area. This included Cleo. On top of that, the specific whistle tone not only had the audible high frequency, the sibilance wasn’t even what caused it to be so infuriating. Instead, it was the low tones, the bass that travelled far too long for Cleo’s liking. It was so specific as well, she could recognize whether or not it was one of the older or the newer members singing it. Which, Cleo was a kind woman. The server got one chance to use the whistle tone, and only during when they discovered the tone or when they were trying to confirm which one it was after accidentally stumbling onto it. So for one of the Hermits to be using it when she knew every single member of the server had already discovered it…she was pissed. Emphatically so, as well.
Marching into Xisuma’s home, she announced her presence by loudly demanding, “Who the hell is using the whistle tone?” She looked around with narrowed eyes and clenched fists, scowling at the men in the room. It was Xisuma, Ren, Tango, and Stress. Curious glances were exchanged, and Cleo clasped her hands over her ears as the whistle tone started right back up. Looking to Xisuma, she declared, “I’m going to commit a murder. Who is using the whistle tone?” Blinking, Xisuma settled back on his heels. Then, he looked at his communicator, hummed softly and then scanned the air.
“The whistle tone is coming from this direction.” He turned and indicated, and Tango hissed in a sharp breath. “What?”
“Do you know who I’m going to murder?” Cleo growled, scowling at him.
“That’s where Etho went. He’s alone so that he can try and—so he can get resources and then come back to join everyone. Something must have happened.” Eyes widening, Tango glanced up. “I think he was considering doing a raid as well. Something—I know where he is.”
“I don’t care what’s going on, he’s not allowed to use that whistle tone. Where is he?” She heard Tango rattle off the address, and then she ran off already. Heading for the Nether hub, she fixed her wings on her back and stormed long angrily, eyes narrowed.
She didn’t care what was going on.
Etho was dead.
+++
Not Too Long Earlier…
Head slamming into the wood pillars of the house behind him, the ravager growling as it pinned him there, Etho grunted.
Scrabbling at the monster’s head, he wheezed in a breath. The sound whistled in his torn-at throat. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath. The whistle reminded him of something else, though. Twitching, he scratched for its eyes with one hand. Raising his sword in the other one, he kicked at its jaw. Shook his head. Come on, Etho. Come on. You can do this, you can handle this. You can take the raid down, you’re okay. He wheezed in again. Opening his mouth, he gasped. Felt something hot and coppery welling up in his throat, in his chest. On the ravager’s back, its pillager riders gripped the reins. The beast reared back a little bit. Then, it smashed Etho back into the wood further, horns piercing deeper into his body. One of his legs spasmed and he kicked at the armor, felt his boot collide with the chestplate. As it did, his toes throbbed, and he exhaled weakly. Come on, Etho!
There was a fierce ache in his chest, and the ravager backed up. Ducking its head, it allowed him to slide off its horns. There was a slick feeling, a squelching as the ivory removed itself from his ribs and stomach. One of the horns had driven deep into his flank, right in the soft part of his side above his hip. Blood flooded his mouth, and Etho weakly coughed again. Let himself slump down to the ground. The ravager was pulled back, and the rider in the back raised their crossbow. Dark eyes held his, and Etho coughed. Blood spattered his lips. Blinking again, Etho jerked his head up when it began to fall. Saw the gleam of sunlight bouncing off the head of the crossbow bolt.
A weak noise left him, he wasn’t even sure it was enough of one to count as anything. Hoarsely, he looked up at the pillagers, the ravager. No emotion held sway on their face, they had no reaction to him lying there, bleeding out on the ground.
The sick sound of a crossbow bolt punching through flesh, matched a moment later by the hot, burning fire of the bolt finding its home right beneath his left collarbone, met his ears.
Jerking, Etho cried out weakly. Twitched. His sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground. He rasped in a breath. Felt his head loll back. Looking to the villagers around him, he grimaced. They were running away, most of them. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, he thought to them, even though they couldn’t hear him. Blinking slowly, he felt his head tip to the side. I'm sorry, I wish I could help you. His head fell to the side. Wincing, he jolted as his body tried to stop him from passing out. A low wheeze left him, and he blinked. Another crossbow bolt found its way into his body again, this time in his stomach. A second later, a third pierced his other flank, and this time he let out another wheeze. It sounded almost like a whistle. Boots thumped down in the gravel-strewn dirt.
I could…Cleo will kill me, though, he thought to himself. Raising one of his hands, Etho flinched when a boot crushed his fingers. Bones cracked and snapped, and he winced again. Everything hurt. There was blood welling up in his body where it should not have been, a result of his injuries. If he were safe in the medical bay, or even if he had other members of the server present to help him handle this, then he would have made some sort of joke that at least it was somewhere in his body. As it was, he was not in the state to joke about blood loss.
It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. Wheezing, Etho tipped his head back. Winced. No. Not yet. I can’t do that yet. I need to—to try and get somewhere else. I can’t—I have to get up. I have to move, he watched the pillager in front of him stalk off. The ravager followed behind him, obediently. Wincing, Etho twitched his arms. Tried to move his limbs. It was less like moving normally and more like dragging himself through molasses. A cough fought its way out of his throat, and he pushed himself against the pillar behind him. Eventually, he managed to get himself up a little bit. Forcing his back into the wood, he dragged himself upright. Staggered.
A groan left him, and his eyes fluttered slightly. Come on. Come on, Etho. Get moving, keep your feet underneath you. You’re going to be fine.
An arrow punched through his back, and he crumpled to the ground.
+++
“Cleo!”
Tango’s voice called out to her. Turning, Cleo soared to a stop midair, hovering with steady beats of her elytra. Scowling at him, she waited for his explanation. “What?” She demanded. Behind Tango, Xisuma, Bdubs, Beef, and Ren soared up as well. Stress and Pearl were a few wingbeats behind. “Did you bring the others to try and stop me from killing Etho?”
“We’re here because we’re worried about you both. If something’s wrong, then Etho needs help.” Tango explained, holding out his arms and soaring closer. Beside him, Xisuma nodded.
“And when nothing’s wrong, and when Etho is just being an idiot and using that whistle tone,” The whistle tone came back, louder now. Roaring, Cleo clapped her hands over her ears and yelled above the noise only she could hear, “Then I get to tear Etho apart!”
Turning without the others’ interference, she flew off towards where Etho was meant to be.
+++
Crawling across the dirt, fingers scraped raw, Etho raised his chin and looked at the house in front of him.
At this point, he wasn’t even trying to get away from the pillagers and ravagers anymore. More arrows littered his back and shoulders, sticking deep into his body. Wincing, he felt his arm jerk as he tried to pull himself forwards a little more. Etho dropped his head forwards, let it rest against the stairs. His eyes fluttered closed for a little while. How long, he didn’t know. But he was lying there, barely able to breathe, and he was pretty sure he was going to hurl if he wasn’t careful.
Pushing his arms under himself, he hauled himself up. A choked, whimpering noise left him. His head fell down without him trying. Ribs grinding together, he crawled up a little further. The bottom of the steps pressed into his hips, tugging at the arrows stuck into his front. Whimpering, he dropped forwards. Felt himself drape against the steps, inhaling weakly and twitching so often. Teeth gritted, he whimpered again. Closed his eyes for a little bit again.
Eventually, finally, he managed to get himself inside the house. Hauling himself over the threshold, leaving bloody handprints behind on the wood of both the door and the porch, Etho collapsed on the floor just beyond the door. He closed it, weakly. Coughed and choked. In between gasps, he hacked up blood. Laid on the floor, wheezing in breaths past the thick coppery taste in his mouth. Head falling to the side, he rasped. Felt another strike of pain through his ribs.
His ribs seized up, sinking in as he inhaled. They weren’t meant to do that. Reaching out, he whimpered again. Tipped his head to the side. Outside, he could hear the pillagers stalking around, the ravager attacking. People screaming. The villagers. I need—I need help. I can’t—his eyes closed for a moment.
Jerking again, he opened his mouth. Above him, the ceiling of the house swirled, speckled with dark spots. Keeping his eyes open was getting harder and harder. Sorry, Cleo. I don’t think I have much of a choice.
This was probably past the point where he should have called for the others. If he could, he would reach for his communicator. He could barely see now, though. Even as he laid there, gasping in pain, he knew his fingers were trembling too much to type properly. He didn’t have any other options, as much as he wished he did. Licking his lips, almost retching at the taste of his own blood, Etho sucked in a breath. Started whistling.
It came out shaky, at first. Not the tone he wanted. Wincing, gritting his teeth, he pitched the tone down. It didn’t last long, left him panting for air. But as he rasped in yet another shaking breath, he frowned. Eyebrows pinching together, face twisting up, he went back to whistling. Raised one of his hands, tried to see if he could maybe reach up. His fingers weren’t—he couldn’t feel his fingers, he couldn’t even feel his hands and the feeling continued down to his elbows. Please work. Please.
I’m sorry if you hate me, Cleo, but I don’t think I can handle this on my own.
+++
Arriving at the village, Cleo found that her earlier statement to Tango about when Etho turned out to be about as truthful as her being a normal human.
“Etho!” Tango yelled out. As he did, the whistling petered out. Turning, Cleo looked at everyone when the whistling, much quieter and weaker (like he knew that he needed to call for someone who was there, not far away), and glanced over the others.
“Beef, Stress, Tango, stay with me. Everyone else, I need you all to fight the pillagers and stop them permanently.” She ordered. There were some nods. Then, Cleo added to her group, “Beef, I’m going to need you to carry Etho. If he’s not coming out and he’s not fighting, then he’s not in a good state. He may not even be able to reach his communicator. Let’s go.”
She shot through the village above the houses, searching.
On the outer edge of the village, amongst all the blood there already, she spotted a bloody handprint on the door. “There!” She shot down, Beef right behind her and then Stress and Tango on their heels. Shouldering the door open, she glanced down.
Etho was on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. Her boots splashed in it as she moved around, and she went to his side. Knelt down, Beef going to Etho’s other side. Eyes fluttering open, Etho looked to Beef, then to Cleo. His eyes scrunched up in a way that meant he was trying to smile, and oh didn’t that hurt Cleo’s heart. He was lying on the ground, arrows in his body and blood spattered over torn clothes. She pulled his shirt away from his stomach, wincing at the way the fabric clung to his skin. Judging by the tears, he had been impaled by a ravager. “Oh, poor thing.” Standing at the table, Stress quickly sorted through the potions she had in her medical kit. The dyed blue shulker box grated together, and Etho winced. His eyes scrunched closed, and he was panting in breaths. There was a section of his chest that was dipping down instead of rising when he inhaled, and Cleo shared a glance with Beef.
“His ribs have been broken around that section and detached from the rest of his chest. They’re floating.” Beef explained, taking Etho’s hand in his own.
Gasping, Etho turned. Looked at Cleo. When he spoke, his voice was crackly in his throat. There was blood matting his hair, and she reached over. Brushed it out of his eyes. “Can’—feel my hands. Sorry for—head.” His eyes rolled back a little, he jolted and let out a wheezing whimper. His eyes opened a little bit, he shuddered and then let his head drop into Beef’s hand when Beef reached out and cupped his face. His chest was heaving, he was struggling for air.
Hurrying over to them, Stress knelt down with something in her hands. “Sorry, Eth. We need to get this under your mask—”
“I know how to do it. Let me.” Beef said. Looking at him, Stress bit her lip. Reaching out, Etho smacked his free hand against Beef’s arm. Looking at him, Beef paused. Etho must have made some sort of gesture, because Beef nodded. “Okay. Okay, I got it.” He tugged at Etho’s mask carefully. It wasn’t removed, but there was enough space for Stress and Beef to maneuver the new mask onto his face, over his mouth and nose. As Beef adjusted the mask, looping the straps around Etho’s head, Stress got a tube and connected it to the top section of the mask. Tango brought something over, and Cleo glanced at it. Paused as she processed what the something was. Stress quickly got the oxygen tank that Tango had brought over connected to the tube and the mask, and Etho floundered a bit with his free hand until Beef took it and pressed it over his mask, where the oxygen mask was. Another wheeze left Etho, sounding much shakier and weaker. His grip on both Beef and the mask faltered. We’re losing him.
“Stress.” Cleo turned to look at her. “I think he’s going to need more than oxygen.”
“I know, I know. We don’t have blood here, but we have potions. The oxygen can tide him over and get some more air in him, so we might be able to keep him conscious a tiny bit longer. Plus, look at his nails.” Stress indicated. Glancing down, Cleo spotted what she was talking about. Etho’s nails were turning blue. “Cyanosis. He’s not getting enough air.” She was back to rifling through her medical shulker. “Cleo, check him for skull and spine fractures.” Nodding, Cleo ran her hands over Etho’s head and neck, then down his back.
She froze when she found a deep injury to his back, and Etho flinched.
He was struggling still, panting despite the oxygen mask. Eyes cracking open, he looked to Cleo. His eyes scrunched up again. “Stress, he has a ravager horn in his back.” She said calmly, voice tight. Freezing, Stress looked to her. So did Tango.
Etho’s eyes fluttered shut, and it almost looked like he passed out.
+++
When Xisuma made his way into the house he had seen Cleo and the others disappear in, presumably to find Etho, the last thing he wanted to see was Beef leaning over Etho, doing compressions with a stressed look on his face and Stress already hooking Etho up to potion transfusions.
Dragging Ren away, he blocked the view with his body. Watched as Beef paused, feeling Etho’s neck for a pulse as Stress forced more oxygen through the mask. Most of Etho’s chest rose once, twice. There was a section that was floating, where his ribs were broken. When Beef went back to the compressions, Stress hooked Etho up to another potion. Healing. He already had one healing, as well as two regen. Come on, Etho. Stay with us. He thought, biting the inside of his cheek. Just hold on for a little while. Please.
When Xisuma couldn’t take watching Beef and Stress struggle to bring Etho back any longer, he turned and called Cub, Doc, and Impulse in a collect call. Turning, he inhaled slowly. “X? What’s going on?” Impulse asked. Pacing away from the others in the group, Xisuma took a slow breath. Touched the side of his helm as he thought.
“Etho used the whistle tone as an emergency call for help. He’s…” Glancing back, Xisuma caught a small glimpse of Etho, lying still on the ground, Beef back to doing compressions. “He’s severely injured and wasn’t able to reach his communicator. I think his ribs are floating in a few places, there’s blood everywhere…that’s just the start of it. I need the three of you to prep the OR and be ready for some major surgery. Stress has him hooked up to four potions.”
“What ratio?” Doc asked.
“Two regen and two health.” Hissing in a breath, Xisuma added, “Beef is doing compressions and he’s hooked up to oxygen right now. I don’t think he’s responding.”
“Alright. We’ll get started now.” Cub said. In the house, there was a choked noise, and Xisuma whipped his head around.
“I think he’s back. Maybe. I’m going to go and check.” Hurrying over, Xisuma glanced inside. From the look of it, they did manage to get Etho back. As Xisuma watched, Beef quickly gathered Etho into his arms. One of his arms dropped down, limply, and Xiusma felt a twist in his chest as his head lolled a bit against Beef’s shoulder.
“Come on, come on!” Stress ordered, hurrying all of them out into the open air. Beef cradled Etho closer, and there were a few sharp gasps from Bdubs and Ren and the others around Xisuma. “We need to get him home.”
She and Beef took off first, and Xiusma glanced at Cleo and noticed the guilty look on her face before she followed suit.
+++
Cub found that being one of the few Hermits trained in surgery was a horrid privilege, and he would prefer never having to place his hands inside one of his friends if he could help it.
Etho’s body was a wreck. When Cub and Impulse had sprinted out to get Etho in to the OR on a gurney, to do some minor triage and see how much damage there was, Etho was unresponsive again and Beef was giving him what was apparently his third round of CPR. Not even just his third round of compressions, the third time they’d started losing him. Which, Impulse had paused for a moment in horror, not used to seeing Etho’s broken body lying there, pliant and limp under Beef’s hands while Stress tried to keep the oxygen levels steady. Now, Etho’s fate was in the hands of Cub, Impulse, and Doc. There was a tube down his throat, he was dosed up on anesthetic and painkillers to keep him under, and Cub glanced at his face.
He looked almost peaceful. Almost. They’d slipped the tube underneath his mask with Beef’s help, taped it to his cheek as Stress monitored Etho’s oxygen levels as their anesthesiologist. Worry creased her face. Looking back down to what he was meant to be doing, Cub slowly began to pull pieces of shredded ravager horn from Etho’s body. They had been warned about the one in his back, thankfully they had already carefully removed it with Doc’s careful hands and Cub’s own guidance. Even as destroyed as he was, Etho had been lucky. Really, really lucky. The horn had split while it was inside him—the tips of ravager horns, which was what Etho had been injured by so often, tended to break off into the body when a person was impaled. Thankfully, they were easy to remove when they split around important body parts, like the spine, instead of piercing into them. Unfortunately, that meant that Etho’s organs were the target, rather than bone, and so now they spent several hours trying to repair his kidneys. And stomach. And some parts of his intestines—it was a whole thing. Broken bones, internal bleeding, they had had their work cut out for them.
As for right now, Cub was trying to pull shards of ravager horn from Etho’s stomach. They’d repaired most of the damage to his back, with the exception of a few broken bones that would need some time to heal. Impulse was working on setting some of the bones in Etho’s hand, since they had been shattered at some point and Impulse was one of the people who had the best work when it came to delicate things. As for Doc, he was fixing Etho’s broken ribs. There was a chunk of metal involved, lots of pins and screws that would need to be removed later. Taking a breath, shrugging his shoulder to adjust his mask, Cub glanced at Etho’s closed eyes before going back to his work.
The sound of the ventilator forcing air into Etho’s lungs was an unerring, unnerving soundtrack to his work.
+++
Cleo was sitting in the medical bay, waiting for Etho to wake up.
Ironically, she didn’t actually feel guilty for what she had said. Yes, she had assumed Etho would only use the whistle tone to mess with her, and in the end she had been wrong. But that didn’t mean she needed to blame herself for what had really been the case. On top of that, blaming herself would do absolutely nothing for Etho…who was currently lying, halfway to death, in the medical bay with the ventilator tube still down his throat as he was hooked up to multiple potions. He was wrapped up in blankets, Beef was lying down on a cot on the other side of Etho’s bed, and Cleo was sitting in her chair with a bouncing knee. Eventually someone else would come by. Usually Cub, Doc, or Impulse. Occasionally Tango. When it came to the three doctors of the server, it was to change bandages, to give medical care, something along those lines. Stress would arrive and change the oxygen tank out. As for Tango, he would pace in the room, stay for a little while, and eventually leave.
Bdubs, Pearl, Ren, and pretty much every other hermit didn’t come by. They glanced in every once in a while. But when they were there, they didn’t seem ready to walk into the room. Beef was one of the only people who spent time there besides Cleo.
Sitting back in her chair, Cleo sighed. Looked at Etho’s still face. His eyes were shuttered closed, expression flat. She pulled out a book. It was one that Joe had given her, when he realized she needed something to distract her, something to keep her entertained while she was sitting in the medical bay, waiting for Etho to wake up.
Hopefully, he didn’t wake up for a while, so that he had the chance to heal.
+++
When Etho woke up, someone was holding his hand and he was pretty sure half the Hermits were sitting in the medical bay waiting for him.
Coughing, he twitched. At some point, he must have had a tube down his throat, because it was sore and he felt like he hadn’t drank water in weeks. Opening his eyes, he wheezed in a breath. Looked to the side. Beef was next to him, smiling softly and apparently half asleep. On his other side, Cleo was snoring away with her feet kicked up on the edge of the bed as she leaned back in her chair. Ren was curled up next to her, Joe was on her other side…and there were assorted Hermits littered around the room.
Letting out a groan, Etho tipped his head to the side. He opened his mouth. Let out a hoarse sound. Turning, Beef shifted his mask carefully, moved the oxygen mask up a little bit as well, and then held a small plastic cup of water to his lips. Opening his mouth, Etho let Beef help him drink. The water was mixed with potions, healing potions from his guess. After, Beef quickly reset the oxygen mask and his cloth mask over it. “Thanks.” Etho croaked out. Settling his hands on his stomach, he looked over at Beef. Smiled weakly. “How’s…how bad was it?” The words were a little slower than he would have liked, shaking and weak. Everything felt weak. It was better than when he was alone and in pain, since he could actually breathe now. He was pretty sure there were pins in one of his hands, he could feel more metal in his body, and he was probably all torn up inside. Or, had been. Judging by the look on Beef’s face, it had been bad. “That bad?”
Nodding, Beef quietly said, “That bad.” He glanced over Etho’s body, holding his hand and then pausing with his gaze focused on Etho’s stomach. “You had a lot of internal bleeding. We…had to resus a couple of times. I don’t think you had the strength to keep your heart going at that point. We managed to keep you alive long enough to get you home.”
“Do you know how long the surgery was?”
“Surgeries. Plural.” Beef murmured. He still wasn’t looking at him. Swallowing, he continued, “Sixteen hours. Eight. Thirteen. Four.” He didn’t say anything after that. Counting up the time in his head, Etho turned and searched for Impulse, Doc, Stress, and Cub. The four were all flopped on top of one another, dozing next to the medical supplies. Exhaling shakily, Etho reached up with his free hand, feeling Beef move his hand away to his elbow. Rubbing his arm, Etho took a shaky breath. Closed his eyes for a moment and then tipped his head back against the pillow. Gently, Beef adjusted the blankets around him, trying to warm him up a little bit.
“Thanks, B. I think I’m going to take a nap.” He murmured softly. As he did, he felt Beef rub a hand over his cheek, and smiled softly behind his mask.
When he fell asleep, he could hear Beef murmuring to him softly.