You’re at a Marvus concert when Zebruh tries to rope you into a suicidal scheme to use you against him. You refuse — Marvus is a true artist and poet, and you won’t exploit him. Zebruh storms off, leaving you free to lose yourself in the music.

The crowd grows wild until you’re crushed in the mosh pit, battered and on the edge of death — but Marvus’s voice keeps you alive. Just when you think you’re done for, he notices you from the stage, stops mid-performance to check if you’re okay, and even jumps down to pull you into his arms. For a moment, it feels like he’s your savior.

Then he calls you out in front of everyone, playing it up for the crowd, who chant for your execution. You surrender yourself, and Marvus ties you up onstage in the spotlight. At the peak of the tension, he raises his hidden blade… and instead of killing you, he spares you with a wink, turning it into a spectacle.

The illusion of your “death” sends the crowd into a frenzy, tearing itself apart in chaotic devotion to him. By the end of the show, most of the audience is dead or exhausted, and only then does the performance end.

Marvus unties you himself, cradling you tenderly like a fallen devotee, stroking your bloodied face with a strange, almost holy intimacy. Holy. Fucking. Shit. This sexy beast of a purpleblooded troll is actually doing this right now.

Marvus notices you’re still playing dead, but clearly not gone.

“You hangin in there fam?”

You tell him yes, while keeping up the ruse. He nods.

“Ok gravy.”

He picks you up and carries you off the stage. Backstage, the clowns are hanging out in their green room, unconcerned by either Marvus hauling in a nearly-dead alien or the fact that thousands of trolls just slaughtered each other outside.

“Hey, u want a sandy?”

A what?

“A sando.”

You blink.

“…Grubbread.”

You admit you’re starving. Marvus sets you down gently on a couch, then walks to the catering table and quickly returns with food.

“Think u can move ur arms or nothing buddy?”

You mumble no — your bones feel like dust.

“Aww shzz thats ruff, sorry man, guess thats my falt! lol.”

“Ok say aaaaaaaa.”

You don’t even question it. You just obey: aaaaaaaaaa. He kneels beside you and presses pieces of grub sandwich past your trembling lips. Tears prick your eyes. You can hardly believe it — hand-fed by Marvus himself. Thousands of trolls would die for this, and yet here you are. Too weak to chew properly, too awestruck to stop sobbing. Eventually, you finish. Embarrassment seeps in as you thank him and apologize.

“Naaah, babe, I’ve dealt w worse. Don’tcha worry ’bout that.”