Chapter Text
I used to rule the world
Phil remembered his sons. His boys. He remembered every single one of them. Wilbur, Techno and Tommy. He remembered laughing with them. He remembered seeing the scars that each of them carried of their past. They were his world.
Chunks would load when I gave the word
Now every night I go stow away
Hide from the mobs I used to slay
He hugged his knees close to his chest, sitting among the ruins of what once was a secluded house hidden from most civilizations. A place where the four of them lived peacefully. Now, a section of the roof hung loose on the side and vines were overgrown in its exterior. The doors barely worked, Phil just left them open. He had been meaning to repair them, but he didn’t see the point to when he’s the only one who would ever stay.
The night was long, and Phil hated the invisible barrier that surrounded the small house. It prevented mobs from spawning, and him from having any long lasting injury. He hated that he can’t die as long as he’s trapped in this barrier.
They once were terrified
Everytime I looked into their eyes
Villagers would cheer my way
For a hero I was, that’s what they’d say
Phil hated the memories from even deeper in his mind. He wasn’t a hero, not anymore. What type of hero let their family die? What type of hero can’t even protect their family from their past? What type of hero drags their family down with them?
One minute we had it all
One minute, they were all sitting around laughing at the table. They were eating baked potatoes from Techno’s farm, Wilbur and Tommy were bickering like they do every other day, and Phil was just laughing at their antics.
Next our world began to fall
Then the windows shattered, and there was banging on the door before an axe split it through and it fell. The family was confused but their trauma-honed instincts from their past pushed them to reach for the weapons that were constantly near.
A green arm grabbed Wilbur, who was to say, one of the least skilled in their family. His weapon was further from reach from him than the others’ were with their weapons. Phil had tried to grab for him, but fell short. He cursed the length of his arm then.
Away from all that has once become
They all cried for my help, but I stood there numb
The shouts of the voices of his sons mixed together, calling for each other, calling for him. Those voices that ripped themselves from their throats as one got blown up, the other dragged away, and the last under a pile of debris. He cried himself to sleep every time those voices rang throughout his ear before he went to bed.
I gaze off into the boundless skyline
He used to watch the sunset with Wilbur, who would become inspired and write a poem or two, maybe invent a tune on the spot that goes with the poem. He missed the sound of the guitar strumming to his skillful fingers, of the music that no disc would be able to replicate.
Noteblock choirs playing in the sunshine.
Turn around, pick up my sword and wield
The blade that once forced evil mobs to yield
Phil’s diamond sword had gleamed with enchants as he cut through the waves and waves of mobs, knowing who was behind it. He had cut through countless waves of zombies and skeletons, trying to protect Tommy and get to the others. He had caught the single glowing white eye of the man responsible, watching from a distance, with his green hair covering his left eye and a golden helmet shimmering with enchantments of its own resting on his head. There were green veins stretching up the man’s face. Phil recognized the man, the man’s son nearly killed him five years ago.
And hope one day that this chaos and
Destruction turns for the better
Hope was all he could do, wasn’t it? So why was it so hard to hope, when it was the only thing he could do? Why did despair and grief so much easier?
Never a bow in hand
That was when I ruled the land
It was the creepers and the skeletons
Blew down the doors and boxed us in
Phil recalled Tommy crying so distinctly. The poor boy was 13 at the time. He had to watch his oldest brother get dragged out, hopelessly outnumbered by the sheer amount of zombies under the green haired man’s control. He had to watch his second oldest be blown up by a creeper from behind, his sword flying out of his hand as a second explosion sounded where he landed, causing further injury.
The two were trapped in a room in the house they lived in, with both of them fully believing that their family was shattered by this night raid that came out of nowhere and made no sense. Phil had Tommy wrapped in his arms, the latter sobbing and his tears soaking the former’s shirt.
Arrows whizzing by like streaks of light
Arrows flew by their ears and was only a block away from hitting the Father and son. He could feel Tommy stiffen and both their hearts’ racing as the Father refused to let his younger son go while looking for an escape.
I tried all that I could, to stay and fight
He remembered hearing screaming as Tommy was torn away yet again, ripped from his very arms and dragged out. Phil took chase, as Tommy thrashed around and fought the best he could against the horde. But he was only thirteen.
Phil remembered screaming out when his youngest brought down a stone ruined building, taking several of the others who were holding him in place with him as he went. He remembered crying, collapsing.
As the undead roam the street
He remembered the footsteps of the green haired man. He wore a full suit of gold armor, all enchanted, much like his son. He laughed bitterly at the memory. A spider, a skeleton and the man’s son chasing him in a cave when he had his elytra on and his chestplate off, negating much of his protection. He nearly died that day, but he came out victorious.
Families broken at my feet
Yes, his family was broken that day. He remembered collapsing as the green haired man thrusted his golden sword downwards towards the defenseless man who was grieving and in shambles.
Life itself suspended by a thread.
Oh why was it that I wasn’t dead
Phil hated that he woke up. He knew he should’ve been dead, but he woke up anyway. He woke up with signs proving that years had passed, although not sure how long. The ruins of their old house were still there, just weathered. The signs of battle were preserved, and a barrier surrounded the area. He couldn’t even die again there. Perhaps that was his afterlife, to forever be reminded of the family he couldn’t protect in utter solitude.
I gaze off into the boundless skyline
Note block choirs playing in the sunshine
Turn around, pick up my sword and wield
The blade that once forced evil mobs to yield
If this battle should leave me slain
I know Herobrine will call my name
Herobrine. That was who the green haired man served. Phil hated him for creating a monster who destroyed his family.
Better to take a stand
That was when I ruled the land
(Don’t worry! Phil’s not dead! It’s not the afterlife! Techno, Wilbur and Tommy aren’t dead either! Divine intervention on my part, aka Plot Convenience, saved them. Stick around! Please?)