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Darkness is a call to home, to forget and move on, and to allow yourself to relax and smile and be able to feel your emotions. It was a dark uncertainty in the eyes of those around him but he can't help it and he trusts them. Over and over but he can't help it so he reaches out, selfishly, drawing people towards himself, meaningfully, trying to give power to those that have lost their ways, those that have lost their lives, and those that have lost their minds. He's empathetic; he knows. He may seem to lack regret but he remembers, he keeps his heart inside though. He's tired.
" Technoblade, are you okay? "
A hand on his shoulder in comfort and he doesn’t look up. It hurts, trusting so easily when all he's ever felt is the stinging betrayal of those that he'd called his friends. He's upset, at himself, at the world, at every single person who's broken his trust. Don't ask me if I am okay. He's broken, torn up by a deceitful world and like the dark keys in a symphony, he wonders when the light will come and make him a centrepiece of masters, remembered and played with vigour and phantasm, like he was nothing but an unfinished symphony, like a requiem begging to derived, he would be played over and over, because like he said, he never dies.
… But isn't that where it all begins?
He's repulsed, all of a sudden like suddenly his body's forgotten how he felt emotion and how he processed this. He's so repulsed, he's nauseous, and retching, but then the hand on his shoulder, the one he'd forgotten about entirely, pulls him back.
" Techno, I'm here . " He said, and Techno cursed softly, pink hair a mess over his shoulders, he hadn't pulled it into a fresh braid for three days now, which was so very unlike him, being so diligent and on top of things, he felt unlike himself, head down in his hands as his eyes begged to cry but the tears weren't coming and he shouldn't be doing this in front of Phil.
Phil , who had killed his own son.
He didn't have the heart to tell him of a single dark or unpleasant thought that crossed his mind, he hadn't before Wilbur died, and he will not now, either. There is no way he was going to worry Phil who had taken so much care of him about his issues, no. There was a silver lining in this cloud; he wouldn't see Phil torn up in anguish over him.
… What was the beginning like?
The voices ask repeatedly and it clogs his mind. Circling his thought, asking, again and again, becoming unbearable, what beginning? The beginning of what? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.
He wonders when these voices will stop.
" Sorry, " He muttered, softly, curling in on himself, he pulled away from the hand on his shoulder, trying to melt into the wall. He felt guilty.
This was getting unbearable, he couldn’t focus, his heart ripped to pieces, and the voices, the godforsaken voices wouldn’t shut up.
He was beginning to forget now, the agony of betrayal having eaten his heart whole. What did it feel like? When they'd replaced Schal— no, that wasn't his name, what was his name? He swallowed harshly, sitting up a little straighter, why was he forgetting ? No, no, no, no,
He wasn't supposed to forget. Why am I forgetting ?
That's it, he doesn't feel it, the pull of the somber darkness, instead he feels the unwelcome light that he's begun to despise, he's begun to fear . The darkness is comforting, but the light, it forces him, it threatens him, tells him that he couldn't ask for revenge and he's tried so hard to keep the light out, he's made darkness envelop him and make him it's. He doesn't want light, it's arrogance and self-importance, he'd rather die. He supposes the light truly isn't what he needs, but it curls around him. He can feel it choking him and he wants to let out a cry for help.
And yet, he's powerless. Again, he is powerless .
… Who am I?
He stands up abruptly, his knees wobbly, as he tries to regain his balance and he reaches out, placing both hands on Phil's shoulders, trying to steady himself.
" Are you okay, Technoblade? " His voice is fading, laced with quiet concern.
He feels unsafe.
" You're my only friend, " He speaks in such a calm voice, but the words feel odd on his tongue. He never meant to admit that.
The light .
Forcing him again.
" Phil, " He began, unsettled by his own seriousness, " I'm going to retire . But, "
Oh, the loyal darkness .
Fighting back.
" If you ever need me, " He spoke in one breath and clutched the compass in his hand, he slowly reached out, handing it over, " Keep it . You'll know where to find me. "
Everyone could hear the uncertain silence, words hanging in the air, he wasn't brave enough.
I care about you more than I do myself .
And the darkness enveloped him again, a small tear escaping his eye.
" Don't die on me. " He said instead, tears escaping his eyes, waterfalls of so much emotion that he thought he was incapable of feeling flooding through him. He clutched at Phil's shoulders, the tears blurring his vision as he closed his eyes, " Please. "
He begged .
It hurts, so very much, when he forgets, blames himself for everything that goes wrong around him, it feels so repetitive, he’s exhausted, the light surrounding him while the darkness envelops, it was like his protective barrier. History would keep repeating itself, it seemed. That’s unfortunate. What was it that Wilbur said? That L’Manberg was his unfinished symphony?
If L'Manberg was Wilbur's unfinished symphony, then everything around him was his requiem.