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Had he gone too far?
Did he not go far enough?
He missed Phil.
Would Phil be proud of him?
Wilbur’s hands were shaking, fingertips poking through holes worn into the cotton from overuse. The forest he was now in was dark, but not quite dark enough to overshadow his sins.
Behind him, fighting ensued. Tubbo had been murdered by Technoblade at the command of Schlatt, and after respawning he and Tommy had fled in the tunnels below the city. Niki had been threatened and she too had run, leaving Technoblade and Wilbur trying to cause the chaos they needed to buy themselves enough time to flee.
With his clothes wet and heavy, Wilbur moved slowly. He didn’t need to run now, didn’t need to brandish a sword, he had lived to fight another day but at what cost? Manburg still stood, Schlatt still controlled their land, nothing good had happened. With the failure to blow the country apart and his actions that day Wilbur had solidified his position as an enemy of the state, a conspirator against those that stood with Schlatt and an instigator of chaos. Those that had fought alongside him - friends that he thought he could trust to fight for what was right no matter the cost - betrayed him. No one gave a damn about restoring L’Manburg, no one cared for honour, the values their country had been built upon had been crushed with an iron fist. All that mattered was power, and Wilbur knew that he was the root of all of this.
If he’d found that damn button he would have killed them all, he could have ended it all. Manburg would have been nothing more than a smouldering crater in the ground.
Would he have felt the same way as he did now if that had happened?
With the only sound being the dragging of his boots through long blades of grass, Wilbur let himself fall backwards onto the ground and closed his eyes just long enough for the faces of those he cared about to appear before him. Their expressions varied from disappointment, to excitement, to pride and pain: what was real and what wasn’t remained a mystery.
He wondered if Tommy and Tubbo were safe: then he wondered why he cared. Tubbo had never truly supported them and Tommy would never choose L’Manburg over Tubbo. He wondered if Technoblade had made his own escape successfully: he wondered if it mattered. Technoblade had killed Tubbo, bowed to the orders of Schlatt, why should he care if Technoblade was following?
Destroying Manburg during the festival would have been symbolic, it would have sent a message to Schlatt, to his administration, to his followers and to the residents of the country, and now Wilbur had to make a decision of his own. Was he too just as bad as the rest? Just searching for power and chaos and destruction in the biggest, most violent display he could muster up? Or did his reasoning for the tonnes of TNT under the country lie somewhere more within the morals he tried to preach? Did he really give a damn about what L’Manburg had stood for - was he still willing to tear the country down brick by brick even if no one was there to witness it?
Would Phil be proud of him for sticking to his ideals? Or would Phil be a traitor too? Would he side with Schlatt?
Perhaps he should have calmed down and returned to Pogtopia, met up with those that still claimed to side with him and talk about what had happened to see if there had been misunderstandings, miscommunications, and accidents, but he couldn’t find it within himself to do anything of the sort.
Instead, with nothing more than the few tools on his back, he stood up once more and searched for a cave.
He still had the flint, all he needed was one piece of iron. He would finish what he’d started, he’d lay the rest of the TNT under the country and he’d blow the place to the sky. A manual detonation was different to a button, though, and Wilbur knew that. As he wandered through the dark caves - his journey narrated by echoing footsteps and rattling bones - he became numb to the idea. Then, as he thought on it more, it became ironic, poetic even. It was dark and sickly but devastatingly funny all at once.
Wilbur had birthed L’Manburg, he had led the charge against Dream’s authoritarian rule over the server. He had introduced democracy and when the peoples of his land decided that his rule was no longer desirable he became the very thing he had sought to destroy when he had first built those walls. L’Manburg was born with him, and it would die with him too.
It was dark by the time he’d returned to the city, taking care as he walked to ensure that he wasn’t spotted. Given the day’s events he knew that Schlatt’s administration would be on high alert and he couldn’t risk being seen, but they remained blissfully unaware of the explosives beneath their city. Wilbur had made sure to visit an ender chest before making his way beneath the site of the festival: if he was doing this, he was going to do it right.
It didn’t take long to spread the remainder of the TNT. Wilbur moved quickly to avoid his mind changing, to ensure that his nerves didn’t get the best of him and that he didn’t suffer from the same indecision he had done before. There was no button to run for this time, no care for any other life - not even his own. The glint in his eyes contrasted against the dark bags that weighed heavily beneath them, and Wilbur sat in front of the explosives with crossed legs. Despite it all, he smiled. This would finally be coming to an end. It might not have been how he pictured it, but he had made peace with what he was about to do.
“Well, I’ve heard there was a secret place, where men could go and emancipate, the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers…”
As Wilbur began to sing he closed his eyes, leaning backwards and resting against the TNT.
“Well, this place is real, we needn’t fret. With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo… Fuck Schlatt .”
He paused to chuckle. Eret’s betrayal meant nothing anymore.
“It’s a very big and not blown-up L’Manburg.”
Bringing the iron and the steel together, Wilbur began to rub the two against each other. It would take a few strikes until a spark ignited it all, so he began a few moments before he reached the end of the song.
“My L’Manburg, my L’Manburg. My L’Manburg…”
“Goodbye L’Manburg.”
The word barely left Wilbur’s lips before the explosion engulfed him.
The country was gone, the people were gone, everything was gone.
Would Phil be proud of him?