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No one remembers a time when there weren't three Lives per player, when you only had one chance to leave behind some kind of mark on one of the hundreds of new worlds created every moment. Sure, there were rumors of these players, evidence even, but no one was willing to believe in a world where you were only given one chance at Life before you succumbed to the eternity of Death.
The new players might not remember that world, but the gods do. They remember how it was one of their own who begged that the fragile players who were forced to survive in worlds filled with constant danger were given more Lives, a way for them to try again and learn from their mistakes. It was nearly unheard of for a god to be so generous, for a god to care so much about the players who inhabited the worlds besides for the worship of themselves.
This god, the one so attached to the players that he would advocate for their Lives, was none other than the very controller of Life and Death. He was one of the most powerful among them, but even he could not give more Lives to the players he held so dear without consoling the rest of the gods.
The gods were immediately split down the middle between those who thought giving more Lives to the players, even if it was for their own selfish ideals, was a noble gift, and those who refused the very thought, afraid that it would extend the players' power to beyond what mortals should be allowed. While they bickered among themselves, raging and storming and intimidating, the god of Life and Death simply watched with a calm look on his face, unconcerned by their quarrels. He had already made up his mind long ago.
"My fellow gods," he had said, his voice ringing in a way that instantly silenced even the most troublesome immortals. "Know that this is a decision I do not make lightly. Giving the players more Lives would undoubtedly change much of the worlds, both newly created and ancient. Because of this, I have decided to step down as the supreme lord of life and death and give parts of my immortality to every player in existence. It would be enough to ensure that every player from now to the end of time will have enough immortality for three Lives and no more. I will live among them with only one Life of my own, immortal in their eyes but still very much able to die. This is my compromise, one that I believe will satisfy all parties involved."
The gods were so stunned that they remained silent for several minutes after the declaration. None of them had ever seen a fellow god willingly give up their immortality, and none of them could imagine doing it for the players, so beneath them and expendable. And to live with them? Watch their suffering and foolish ignorance, seeing them die over and over again in the blink of an eye?
"You do know that giving them three Lives will also give them three Deaths, don't you?" asked one of the Death gods, much weaker and insignificant when it came to the supreme lord, but already planning to take his place. There was much power for him to gain, especially since he had just recently taken power from one of the Sea gods. "Those Deaths will have power over the players. They will follow their creators until they finally become one."
The god of Life and Death bowed his head, gently rubbing the ruby heart that lay around his neck. None of the other gods knew that it was a gift from one of the many children he has taken cared of over the years of his immortality, and he knew none of them would care about the pain and grief he went through every time one of them died. They came to his domain, yes, but it was not the same. He wanted them to create and influence the world of the Living, not eternally wander in the world of the Dead.
"I know," the god replied. "I know that better than any of you ever could."
And with that, the supreme lord of Life and Death spread his immortality to every player in existence, giving himself only enough for one Life. Yes, in theory he could live forever on that one Life, but he also knew that he could die at any moment, just as the players could.
Many years have passed since then, and now the former god constantly wanders, becoming a father to those left behind, still mourning those he grew to love...
Most people think of shadows as nothingness, spaces where light doesn't quite reach the earth, blocked by some figure that holds no particular favor for light or darkness.
Most people would be wrong. Shadows-- not the black of darkness created by an overzealous tree or an innocent honeybee-- but true Shadows, were very much made up of the opposite of nothingness. They interacted with the world they were supposed to have left behind, reminding their creators of the death they've tasted and how no number of respawns could ever get rid of them.
Philza knew these Shadows, these Deaths, better than anyone. He was the reason for their existence after all, and as far as he knew, he was the only one who could see them. He's never seen a player acknowledge their Shadows, though he has the feeling that the players know they are there, even if only unconsciously. It would explain why they sometimes get a chill in the middle of a dessert, staring off into the distance without realizing that they were staring right at one of their own Deaths.
Some days Phil wonders if giving the players three lives was worth anything. He thought it would make them more open to the many sights the Living had to offer, make them appreciate what they've been given, but instead it made them more reckless and more willing to throw themselves away. Yes, it extended their overall lifespans and caused them to advance in ways that would have been unimaginable when they had only one Life, but that extra time also meant that they had more chances to be cruel, invent new ways to kill and torture. In a way, Phil understood that something like this would happen. The players were molded after the gods after all-- but he didn't expect this.
This server, the Dream SMP, was one of the best examples of the horrors that many Lives and Deaths could have on a population. You couldn't go anywhere without seeing three or more Shadows, all trailing their Living counterparts like begging wolves.
Phil still sees his first moments on this server burned behind his eyelids whenever he sleeps; the room covered in the scratched out anthem of a doomed nation, his son standing in the middle of it all, flanked on either side by his two Deaths. He remembers being so startled at the sight of Wilbur's Deaths, knowing that when he last left that his son still had all three Lives. Somehow in the year they hadn't seen each other, his son had lost two of them, and he hadn't been there to help him through the horrors of respawning and losing a part of yourself.
The Death on Wilbur's right wore a nearly festive outfit of red, white and blue, a slight smile present on his gray face that almost distracted Phil from the giant rip across his torso, spilling forth black blood and the barest bits of various organs. The second Death on Wilbur's left also wore the same festive outfit, though it was noticeably dimmer, well worn but not well cared for. This Death looked devastated and confused, several arrows imbedded deeply into his back that shuddered with every movement. In the middle of these horrible Shadows sat Phil's son, eyes faintly red and covered in a long, dirty trench coat. He remembers his son's half coherent rambles about a country he had created and lost, about a traitor who had nearly destroyed it before it even began, about how it was never meant to be. He remembers his son hitting that button, remembers the explosions that followed and how he desperately tried to shield Wilbur from the blast. And after-- how could he forget after, when his son begged him to take his last Life, to put the sword through his chest and leave him to Death.
Wilbur's Shadows remained silent the entire time, watching their creator succumb to the crumbling effects of insanity. Their gray eyes burned into Phil's skin as he pleaded with his son for another way, some way that he could make it all better and leave Wilbur to the Living.
But then he saw the crater, what little was left of the country his son had created and written so often about in the letters he sent to Phil. He saw the horror on the other players' faces, their disbelief and anger when they turned their gazes towards his son, realizing in an instant what he had done. He saw the look in Wilbur's eyes, broken and filled with madness, and understood that his son had died long ago. His final Life had brought nothing but pain, to both himself and the world, and now he needed to rest.
And so, under the burning watch of his son's Deaths, Philza had plunged the sword into Wilbur's chest, holding him close and sobbing into his shoulder as his lungs let out their last trembling breath. From his son's body grew his final gray Death, one constantly tinged with insanity and a hole in his heart. All three of them stared down at their creator with something that resembled pity, and with a flash of darkness the three Shadow merged into one being, one Wilbur.
This Shadow looked much closer to the Wilbur Phil knew: yellow sweater, beanie on his head, a guitar strapped to his back. But it was those eyes, the sadness and grief, the twist of regret in his mouth, that told Phil all he needed to know. This time there was a flash of light, and the last Shadow of Wilbur Soot was gone, leaving behind nothing for the worlds to remember other than the corpse of a mad man.
After that it was a blur of explosions and decrees, being placed under house arrest and the Butcher Army going after yet another one of his sons. During that time and after, the number of Deaths Phil saw was astounding, especially when he realized that Wilbur had not been the only one of his children who was on their last life. Tommy and Tubbo, his youngest and the two that should have been free from even the possibility of death, both followed by two Shadow's that eerily reminded him of Wilbur.
Both of Tommy's Deaths wore the same red, white and blue outfit that Wilbur's had, the first slightly more ragged than the second. The first Death had multiple gashes across his arms and legs, the killing blow going straight through his back. The second Death was not nearly as cut up, but arrow in his throat prevented him from moving his head around too much, his gray stare often looking at nothing. Both Deaths trailed Tommy eagerly, and while they were unable to talk, Phil had the distinct belief that they were constantly weighing in their opinions on whatever was happening. It was unnerving to say the least, watching them bob and weave around Tommy with their silent chatter, especially since Phil could see just how young these Shadows were. Both were about an inch shorter than Tommy, with slightly shorter hair, fuller cheeks, and a less haunting look in their eyes that Tommy desperately tried to hide.
(Later, when Tommy lost-- supposedly lost-- his third Life, Phil couldn't help the nightmares that appeared for days after. All that would echo in his mind were Ranboo's hesitant words as the rest of the Syndicate stared on, how Dream killed him, how Dream beat him to Death--)
Then there was Tubbo's Deaths. At that point, Phil wasn't surprised at the first one, a Shadow in red, white and blue (even if somehow-- somehow he looked even younger than Tommy's first Death, which Phil couldn't think about for too long), throat slit wide open to the point he was nearly decapitated. The second Death... Phil didn't quite understand it, but all the Shadows he had seen so far on this server, Tubbo's second Death disturbed him the most. The boy was wearing what at one point was a pristine suit (Phil could see it perfectly in his mind, an enthusiastic Tubbo with his tie slightly skewed, the sleeves and pant legs too long for his short frame) but was now nearly destroyed. The right side of his face was completely caved in, covered in horrible, still smoking charred skin that hung limply off his cheekbone. Blood covered his matted brown curls and stained his suit, his one remaining gray eye constantly darting around the world with barely controlled fear, jumping at every loud sound and cowering at too bright colors.
Phil found out pretty quickly why all of his children seemed to have the same first Death (including Fundy, his grandson he later found out-- with a Shadow that had a dagger sticking right out of his temple). The story of Eret, a former revolutionary turned traitor turned King, was one that everyone on the SMP knew and was willing to tell. As was the tale of how Tommy sacrificed his second Life to free L'Manburg, or when Wilbur lost his second life after being exiled from his own country. But very few were eager to answer Phil's question on how Tubbo lost his second life, not until Tubbo himself barged into Phil's home in L'Manburg along with the Butcher Army and demanded to know where Technoblade was.
("They trapped me in concrete," Phil hears Tubbo say, his eyes distant and unknowingly looking right at his second Death. "They told Techno to put a firework between my eyes. He did.")
Technoblade, his son that was constantly surrounded by Shadows that weren't his own, even if only for a couple seconds. Technoblade, his son that constantly heard voices in his mind that demanded blood. He wonders if Tubbo's Shadow ever haunted him, ever haunted the brother that followed the will of a dictator to take an innocent boy's Life.
And then after the failed execution, when Phil saw Quackity with two Shadow's for the first time, he understood just how brutal his son had become on this server. Quackity's first Death was burned almost exactly like Tubbo's, suit destroyed, skin blackened, his left shoulder stripped of flesh so that all you saw was the bone, but his second Death was one that made Phil nauseous every time he happened to glance at it.
Someone (well, Techno) had taken a pickaxe straight through Quackity's eye, caving in his skull and teeth. Bits of brain and tissue were scattered across the rest of his face and clothes, the Butcher Army apron that had once been mockingly stained with pigs blood now stained with his own. The Quackity now on his last Life had a scar that perfectly mirrored his Shadow, his once brown eye now slightly cloudy, greyish tissue running from his forehead all the way through his top and bottom lip and down his chin.
Phil never wanted this, never wanted the humanity he feel in love with so many centuries ago to be forced to relive their Deaths even in their next Life, but there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was watch the Shadow's follow their creators, waiting for the day they they finally joined them.
One of the most interesting people on this server, at least in Phil's eyes, had to be Jack Manifold.
Now, Phil's only interacted with Jack Manifold maybe three times in his entirety of the SMP, but each has left Phil intrigued and more than a little confused.
For one, Jack had three Shadows. This should have been completely impossible, in fact, it was completely impossible. Three Shadows meant you had three Deaths, and three Deaths meant that it was game over. And yet, this man (this teenager) was walking around like nothing was the matter.
Well, maybe that was an oversimplification. Anyone who has even died once can tell you that it's a traumatic experience, let alone two or three like Jack seemingly has been through. The first Death was a simple stab to the gut, a permanent look of shock carved into his mouth. The second Death was nothing more than ash and bone, the Shadow unrecognizable to Jack's living form. The only explanation that made sense was lava-- not even the hottest of flames could cook a human body that thoroughly. And the third-- it was covered in blood, with various wounds covering his body and his red and blue lenses glasses cracked horribly. None of the wounds looked particularly fatal, and Phil had the distinct feeling that Jack's third Life had been taken by lack of care rather than injury.
What disturbed Phil almost more than the presence of three Shadows around Jack Manifold was perhaps the lack of explanation of them from anyone. Losing a Life was a big deal-- pretty much everyone on the Dream SMP knew how many lives everyone else had. Everyone talked about Tubbo and Quackity and Fundy and Tommy's lives. No one says a thing about Jack Manifold.
And more-- Jack seemed to react to his Shadows, following their movements from behind his glasses, slightly flinching whenever they got too close, tilting his head as if to listen closer to their silent words. There was so much passion and anger in Jack, all centered around his Shadows, all fueled by their presence.
(Far in the future, Ranboo mentions that Jack Manifold dragged himself out of Hell after he lost his third Life. He doesn't know how or when-- but Ranboo does know that pretty much the only reason Jack Manifold is alive is due to his own refusal to succumb to Death. "I think he has unfinished business," Ranboo says. "I don't know what it is, though.")
But somehow, despite the very interesting situation that was Jack Manifold and his three Shadows, there was still one person that was even more mysterious.
Karl Jacobs.
Now, Phil's known about Karl for a long time. Most of the gods did-- even as vain as most of them were, it was kind of hard to ignore a random mortal showing up at random points in time, seemingly non-aging and so young all at once. Karl never stayed anywhere long enough to gain anyone's attention, and yet, the Dream SMP seemed to be the place he called home.
The one Shadow Karl Jacobs had was uninteresting, all things considered. He was missing an arm and several chunks of his body, bits of his insides covering the purple and green hoodie that he always seemed to be wearing. Phil once heard that it was the result of and explosion-- but that wasn't what he was focused on. Instead, Phil looked at the near dozen different Shadows that surrounded Karl at all times, noticing how more and more were added every couple of weeks, seeing some of them completely vanish for a while only to come back. Most of the Shadows wore hoodies similar to Karl, though they were a stark white with little color in their blank eyes. These Shadows had no seeable injuries that would have caused their Death, and yet, there they were, skin grey and words silent. They didn't even seem to realize Karl was there, even as they followed him around, walking nowhere with no purpose.
The other Shadows looked much similar to the Living Karl with only smaller differences. Googles in ones hair, a mask on another. These Deaths did have injuries, mostly consisting of sword jabs that left them bloodied.
Phil had no idea what any of them meant, or how someone could experience Death so many times without being forcefully dragged into the underworld, but then again, it wasn't Phil's place to know these things anymore. He gave up being a god long ago, and the domain he once claimed to be the supreme lord of belonged so someone else now.
That's alright with him, though. There might be some days he regrets giving players the gift of multiple Lives, but he'll never regret living with the humanity he fell in love with so long ago.