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Death
noun
The action or fact of dying or being killed, the end of the life of a person or organism. The destruction or permanent end of something.
Permanent. That is what made people fear death. Losing someone you loved and never being able to see, touch or hear them ever again. Usually, it happens once, then it is irreversible. However, around here it’s three strikes and you’re out. Some still have three whole lives left, making it easier to be reckless and not be scared of dangerous situations. There are others who only have one life left, hanging tightly onto their last thread.
Some of them have been unfortunate enough to fall victim of three losses.
Schlatt was the first one to go. However, not many people seemed to care. A small funeral, mocking the arrogant dictator who had thought that he held everything in the palm of his hand. His fall due to his own decisions. Whether or not the others had liked him, it was still a death. Yet, the world seemed to continue spinning. L’Manberg was rebuilt, a nation that was stronger than before. Sometimes you could hear the odd conversation about the horned leader that fell from grace. That was all that was left of him, a few stories told between friends about the man who had it all then lost it all in the blink of an eye.
Life continued.
However, it all suddenly came to a stop when Wilbur took his last breath. A man who had succumbed to insanity, giving into delusional schemes. Most would say that death was terrifying, but this man looked the grim reaper in the eyes and begged to be dragged straight to hell. Swift movements of a sword granted him of his wish. Everyone looking out at the corpse of Wilbur. No, that was just an empty shell that used to be Wilbur. Now all that was left was the remains of a leader who let his crazed ideas get to his head and in doing so, destroying everything he considered important.
It was almost like a classic tragedy. A man who was once considered a hero and leader of his nation was beaten by his own mind, brought to the brink of madness, never truly giving in until he had finally brought destruction to the world.
His last life taken from him by his very own father.
Phil didn’t think it had gotten so bad. In fact, Phil didn’t think much of it when the letters stopped coming from Wilbur, deciding he was just too busy running his own nation. But then he showed up at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the exact right time to show up, Phil wasn’t sure. If Phil hadn’t been there, would Will have just begged someone else to do the taboo act, or would he have done it himself? Was there an option where he could’ve lived if Phil had checked up on him sooner?
Whilst Ghostbur reassures him that killing “alivebur” was the right thing to do, the possibilities of what could have been a much happier life never ceased to leave his mind. Picking up a sword to fight a zombie, the decaying face in front of him would start to twist and morph into the unhinged expression from his son, the last expression he saw from him. An expression that has been imprinted, whenever he closed his eyes, he would be cursed to see the eyes that had given up completely.
Trying to move on, he took a step back from L’Manberg, moving in with Techno. Both deciding that the nation had taken the life of someone who didn’t deserve it, that it needed to be eradicated once and for all. The piglin hybrid wasn’t good with emotions, Phil enjoyed that about his eldest. If there were soft sobs that escaped the second bedroom due to another sleepless night, Techno wouldn’t mention it and Phil would go about as if nothing ever happened.
Phil also wouldn’t mention anything if Techno would come back coated in blood after having to let out whatever emotions he had pent up inside of him.
Techno was once a twin. Now all that was left was just him. All because of a stupid goddamn government. It took away his brother before his life of adventure could even begin. Techno knew what war was like, he had guarded the Antarctic Empire for several years, but he would never wish for anyone to be put through the anguish of war. Yet Will had suffered again and again until one day it just exploded. Watching his brother’s descent into lunacy, not bothering to step in, just being an emotionless fighter like he always had been.
Crimson would often cloud his vision, voices ringing in his ears. Craving blood to satisfy the bubbling anger he desperately tried to keep hidden. Frustration towards the government for failing its people, towards Wilbur for just giving up, towards Wilbur’s so-called “friends” for not stepping in, and towards himself for being just as useless as the rest of them.
Many journeys he took now were just so he could clear his thoughts, silence the voices. Words were useless, he wasn’t going to talk to anyone. The only universal language was violence and Techno was going to use that to showcase the growing resentment he was feeling.
Then there was the boy who had lost his father that day. He was unsure on what he felt. Maybe there was a tinge of anger that his father got to go out like a coward, avoiding any consequences that were caused by his own actions. Fundy thought that he was mostly annoyed at Wilbur for never stepping up and being the father that he needed to be. But then there was something else, a small glimpse of joy at the thought that he no longer had to be cursed by his very own father.
Was he also feeling relief?
It seemed messed up, if he was going to be completely honest with himself. Feeling glad that someone was gone, wasn’t that something a psychopath would do? Then came along Eret, saying that they would be the parental figure Fundy needed. It finally felt like life was peaceful and that they were making progress. He realised that it was okay if he felt calm after his father’s death. It was closure. Cutting himself off, he was the only family he had left, it was just him. Fundy liked the thought of that.
Tommy didn’t like the thought of being alone. It wasn’t something he was good with. Sure, he still had Tubbo, but he couldn’t help but feel the gaping hole that had been created when Wilbur dropped to the floor. A man he had been trapped with for weeks, stuck in Pogtopia instead of living in their actual home. Maybe Tommy should’ve gotten help when the first sign of Wilbur completely losing it was shown. Maybe he should’ve tried harder to stop Dream from handing over the bundles of TNT. Maybe he should’ve been a better little brother.
It was far too late for “maybes” though. A father who had fled the scene, one older brother retired and the other dead, Tommy realised that he couldn’t dwell on the past. He basically had no family left. So, for the sake of everyone else, he painted on a brave face and moved forward.
Moving forward went tragically.
Now there was a burnt house, engulfed in the flames of despair and sadness. Had it been a reckless decision due to the grief he refused to face? Tommy ignored the thought. No matter what, he swore he was fine.
Even if he wasn’t okay, no one was going to question the faint cries that escaped his lips because no one was there for him anymore. Abandoned in exile, the only company being the faint memory of his brother in the form of an annoyingly cheery ghost. It just added insult to injury.
Well maybe he wasn’t completely alone, there was also Dream.
A man that had never once thought about stepping in. Thriving off the pain that the death caused. Enjoying the chaos that unfolded because of it, finding it amusing that the world seemed to crumble after Wilbur’s death. Puzzle pieces began to slot together as he moulded the server however he wanted now that the Wilbur was gone.
Dream chuckled, his soft laughter replacing the quietness of Logstedshire.
Life continued.
The next death was almost similar to what had happened to Schlatt. Mexican Dream shot for defending his own family. A sad death that only a select few found out about. All that was left was a small gravestone to remember him by. At least there were people who missed him, making sure his story would get told to others. That was all that happened though, no extravagant funeral, just the power of speech to pass on his tales.
Life continued.
For quite a while no one fell victim to losing their last life. Everything was looking up too, Dream locked up in prison and the server was thriving.
Then it all went so, so wrong.
Sam doesn’t think he will ever be able to go to sleep without hearing the desperate screams from Tommy, begging to be let out. It was his fault. Tommy’s death was his fault. When did his stern warden persona become something so valuable to him? When did following rules set by the masked man become more important than making sure someone was safe?
Informing the others about the situation was something Sam prays he will never have to do again. Watching pained or confused expressions. Seeing how the others blamed him. It hurt. It hurt so much. Fran had fallen subject to many makeshift therapy sessions where Sam would ramble about the boy he had failed to protect. Now there would be no more loud laughter or sarcastic comments. No more Sam nook. No more joyous building. Fran was a good dog; she listens to his tired voice and didn’t look like she blamed him for any of it. Instead, she would gently lick away the salty tears that frequently streamed down his face.
Puffy also failed to protect. Broken promises of safety that she would regret until the day she died. She hadn’t known the blond for that long, but she could sense the torment he had been put through and instantly knew she had to provide a welcoming and safe space for the boy. It was pathetic, she couldn’t even complete one simple task.
As well as that, there is the stupid egg. An egg that has corrupted her friends so much that they celebrated when a child had been murdered. Vile giggling that would haunt her, no sane human would ever laugh at someone dying.
No more broken promises from now on. Puffy had to make sure that she was going to make this all right. The server will once again be a peaceful place to live. Tommy had fallen victim to its violent ways, she wasn’t going to let anyone else go that way. She is doing this for her friends. She is doing it for Tommy.
Only 16 and yet there were several people that had wanted him dead. Jack Manifold never thought that the day the blond would die would actually come. Yet here he was, standing in front of an unnervingly quite hotel, knowing that he should be celebrating. Why did he refuse to do that though? It was as if an emptiness lingered, not satisfied by the one thing he had wanted for an awfully long time. Sadness? Frustration? Relief? Jack realised that all he felt was tired. God he was so tired.
Out of spite, he had cheated death and he wasn’t even known for being stubborn. No one had expected it to happen. Tommy, on the other hand, was known for never giving up and evading death so many times. Yet he lost all his lives to the psychopath in the mask. Jack should feel happy. He knows he has craved this for quite some time now, but he couldn’t help but miss the arrogant loudmouth. Ironic, isn’t it? He actually missed the boy that he declared was his enemy. Being respectful, he decided to let some of the others know what had happened. Then he was going to go to sleep. He was tired. He wanted to close his eyes and ignore the world for a while.
Tubbo just wanted to ignore reality completely. There was no way Tommy could’ve died. No way. His best friend, the guy who had survived several wars, an exile, and a battle with his own abuser, had died? That just wasn’t possible. Tommy would return one day, laughing about how it was all a prank. Claiming that the brunette was obviously clingy because he had missed him. Tubbo would laugh back.
Sam was obviously apart of the joke. He was a surprisingly good actor and Tubbo would probably get annoyed at how well he had managed to portray hopelessness.
In the end though, Tommy would come back. He is going to be alive and healthy, all connections tying him down to his past finally cut. He will be alive.
Right?
His best friend isn’t dead, right?
Tommy couldn’t die, right?
It wasn’t allowed to happen. It just couldn’t happen. Tubbo knew that the blond had survived through so much, he couldn’t just die, all alone, trapped in a cramped prison cell. He couldn’t die. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true.
Ranboo knew all too well that what Sam had told them was completely true.
It hit him like a truck.
Tommy was kind, he wasn’t selfish like the others had claimed. Right at the start, Ranboo also assisted in burning George’s home, but Tommy had taken all the blame for himself. This was the boy who oozed confidence. Even after a horribly long exile he bounced back. He always did. Everyone was so used to him being able to escape deaths grip. Turns out that no one is invincible.
A soft purple flower in his grasp, Ranboo silently shook. Raindrops gently landing on his skin, littering it with miniscule burn marks but Ranboo couldn’t bring himself to care. Tears stinging his eyes as he knelt down, delicately laying the flower on the grass.
No one was there to pick it up.
Ranboo didn’t bother trying to protect his face from the tear tracks that were being seared into his skin. Instead, he just watched the flower. A gift given to one of his first friends on this server. They had had each other’s backs from the moment Ranboo joined. Now he had to carry the burden of letting the rest of Tommy’s family know what had happened.
Even though Wilbur was technically the only biological son of Phil, Tommy and Techno had joined the family of two to make it a family of four. It was as if they were all blood related. But now the relationship was frayed, leaving unresolved conflicts and clashing opinions. Ranboo knew he had to let them know though, it was the least he could do.
Mouth agape, Phil listened to what Ranboo told them. Niki also carrying the same disbelief, muttering to herself that the boy couldn’t die, that it wasn’t possible. Ranboo didn’t think she was important though, she just so happened to be there when he decided to tell Techno and Phil, so he ignored her.
Phil contemplated what to do, how to react. As if, like everyone else, he had thought that Tommy was just destined to live forever. He was almost like a protagonist of a book or show, just barely winning all his battles but he always managed to do it anyway.
Explaining how tommy had died was terrible. It was a horrific way to go. Beaten to death by a man who had tormented him ever since he had joined this cursed server. Ranboo desperately tried to block out the nauseating images his mind created whenever he thought about what could’ve happened in the prison. Just a simple thought was enough to make him almost throw up right there and then.
Techno laughed, yet it wasn’t full of the joshing tone it would usually carry. It wasn’t hearty or sarcastic, the laughter was just empty. Void of any of the usual teasing. Phil seemed taken aback by the laugh, clearly deeming it inappropriate whether it was fake or not. Hastily Techno moved the conversation on, as if Ranboo hadn’t just informed him that his other brother had been bludgeoned to death by Dream. Phil and Niki gladly allowed it to happen. Ranboo just watched, confused.
However, he didn’t notice the way techno’s hands dug into the side of the table, or the way his eyes glowed a deep vermilion. Techno forcing his whole body not to shake, stopping himself from leaving to do things that would probably seem too horrific to any sane person. Ranboo didn’t catch any of that.
He also didn’t see how Phil shrunk in on himself, becoming quieter, looking down at his hands. The way his eyes glossed over, the light almost seemingly non-existent. Trembling fingers that busied themselves by fiddling with his wings.
Ranboo didn’t notice any of it. Niki seemed too caught up in her own mind to know what was happening. Techno and Phil wordlessly thanked whoever was watching over them that the others didn’t catch wind of their microscopic mannerisms.
After their conversation, Ranboo stepped back outside. Into the world that was quiet, too quiet. Almost as if the server had lost its purpose. No one truly realised the impact Tommy had had here, the fact that everything had seemed to revolve around him. Ranboo hated the silence.
However, it wasn’t silent.
Several blocks away, sat in a small and dark prison cell, was a man wearing a mask that had a sly grin painted onto it. A murder who refused to let this server be silent. It was his server after all. He was a creator; he was a God. Being able to do whatever he wants, even from inside enclosed obsidian walls.
Taking a life was just so easy. Death didn’t scare him; it never has and never will. He has secrets stashed away that prove that death is just another measly event that could happen to anyone. Anyone who feared it probably deserves to die, just so they can experience it and realise that they are being dramatic.
Tommy begging for Dream not to hurt him, exactly like he used to do back when he was in exile. Back when things were how they were supposed to be. Tommy’s last words being terrified screams about not wanting to die. Slowly, a smirk formed underneath the porcelain mask.
Dream cackled, his sickening laughs bouncing around the prison cell.
Life continues.