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“I’ve always dreamed of flying, lifting myself from the sodden soil to soar above and explore where I never have before,” The way his voice carries through the room makes him appear so much bigger than what his fragile and broken body appears to be.
There’s a smile on his cracked lips, blood dripping down his cheek to mix with the salty sweat. “I may not fly today, nor tomorrow— yet I hope to be reborn as something with wings,”
Then he’s chuckling, as if standing above his own death was anything to laugh at— but Philza was always one to laugh in deaths face, welcoming her with open arms around each corner.
“Just hope it’s something cool, not a fly or a beetle, y’know?” He turns to the shaking form behind him, the way his eyes glisten in the multicolored lights has Phil transfixed and it’s a sight that will never leave him.
“You don’t have to do this Phil—“ Technoblade begins but Phil is shushing him before he can finish.
“You take care of my boy for me, will ya?” Is the question he interrupts with, a sentence that carries so much responsibility and pain that words can not even begin to fathom.
Technoblade’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, the room is spinning and his bare feet stay planted onto the sticky glass beneath him. There’s a shine with the lights against the transparent platform, sweat dripping down to mix with the colors and create almost a disturbing water color array.
“Of course I will,” It’s all Technoblade can say, he can’t bring himself to conjure up any other arrangement of words.
His mind is screaming begs and pleas for his friend to think harder, look closer— but the constant ticking of the timer tells them they have no time. Not enough time for the long list of people behind them.
There’s no words spoken as Phil turns, light on his feet and as agile as a cat. His smile never fades as he steps back and leaps— and just for a moment he’s soaring, his feet barely touching the glass as he leaps from one to another.
Though Philza does not have wings, he doesn’t know how to fly and so he does not know how to land.
He’s crashing before he even realizes what’s happening, glass splintering his skin and wind lifting his hair and shirt as he plummets.
The room is silent and Technoblade doesn’t move, the yelling of those behind him distant as he stares ahead— the ghost of a friend, a partner still smiling at him.