Everyone on Hermitcraft knows redstone dust is unbelievably incredible. Everyone on Hermitcraft know redstone is unbelievably dangerous.
Sure, it’s behind every fake decorative door and the key to making a base really shine, but they’re careful. They know the risks. Xisuma is so paranoid that he never takes his mask off, even when it’s safe. Tango makes sure to never have exposed redstone wires, and keeps any open lines tucked away in a closed-off sterile area. Even Impulse has started wearing a respirator.
(Sure, inhaling it is akin to inhaling slightly toxic dust, but that’s never stopped him! Everyone else is just being dramatic. And it’s not like anybody has ever died from it, either!)
(And sure, his hair is a bit greyer than the last time he checked, but that’s natural! People age! Salt and pepper hair looks good on him, anyway! He isn’t bothered!)
(Sometimes, it scares him. The lengths he’ll go.)
(It whispered to him yesterday. It told him to kill Gem.)
(Kill the Constellation.)
(That’s what it had said. But Mumbo had somehow instinctively understood, and had killed her.)
(Of course, she respawned. A bit surprised, and a bit wary at his newfound strength and almost inhuman speed, but unharmed.)
(After all, she had a bed. He hadn’t gone as far as break that. Part of him had still known that would have been a bad idea.)
(He’d avoided redstone after that. It was angry with him for disobeying It, after all, but even from a distance he felt It. Red dust swirled in his veins and his breaths came in short bursts. Despite everything, he found himself going back.)
(He couldn’t help himself. It was like that deadly exposure was a drug, and he was fully under its power.)
It didn’t hesitate, and soon that strangely comforting creaking whisper came from the darkness.
“You mean Grian?” Again, part of him flinched at how he instinctively knew who It referred to, but that part was soon washed away. It felt good talking to it. The glow of it ebbed and flowed, pulsing in time to his heartbeat.
The dust was shifted slightly by a nonexistent wind, than settled again. Mumbo tasted metal and blood at the back of his throat.
Yes. G-r-i-a-n. He sees too much.
It flickered again, and Mumbo felt one hand drift forward to touch it. He didn’t really know why, but part of him wanted to.
He ẇ̵̫̹a̷̜̺̮̾̾͆̒̌̓ţ̵̮̖̙̲͖̬̓c̷͈̽̔h̵̠̚̚e̴̮͙̝͋͛̏̒̈́͘s̴͓̼͚͍̹̈́͛͠ͅ.