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This isn’t the happy ending you were hoping for. I know it isn’t. But, at the very least, it is the story you set out to find.
Let me set the stage for you real quick…
It’s quiet, eerily so, in the final control room. It’s November 16th, this is a story we all expect, one we follow reverently as if it is our own history. But this isn’t the story we know, not by a long shot; you see, this story is missing one key component in that control room, one Philza Minecraft. And without him, the story cannot play out as we expected it to.
It’s quiet in the final control room, something that Technoblade notices immediately upon his arrival. He had been expecting many things, screaming maybe, or at least the echo of it left as screams died off. What he hadn’t been expecting was the extreme, chest-tightening level of silence that filled the room.
There is one, barely noticeable sound, the sound of Wilbur’s heavy breathing as he stands next to a wooden button mounted precariously onto the wall. Techno doesn’t even want to imagine what that button is connected to-- what it is there for.
So Techno’s eyes latch onto the one thing in the room that makes sense, the one thing he had known would be there before he arrived. Standing tall, with his brown trench coat hanging off him as it had for the majority of the revolution, was Wilbur Soot.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Wilbur said, his voice straining to remain impassive, to hide his thoughts and emotions that he once wore so bright on his sleeve.
“Neither are you,” Techno responds, his voice giving away far more then Wilbur’s own had-- as it was, he had no reason to hide how he felt in this situation.
“Yet,” Wilbur started, “you are not surprised to find me here.” It is not a question, not even a request for confirmation. It is a statement, as clear as the sun in the sky.
“I am not,” Techno confirms, his eyes drifting to the button. He has a funny feeling he knows exactly what that button will do now.
Boom one of the voices says.
Traitor another one continues.
Haha E chimes in a third.
“You don’t have to do this, Wilbur,” Techno urges, “this isn’t you.” Wilbur just laughs.
“You don’t know me,” he proclaims, “you never have.” A shadow seems to pass over his eyes at that moment.
“And besides,” Wilbur continues, “isn’t this exactly what you wanted? L’manberg destroyed, the fall of government, anarchy restored?” Techno’s eyes narrow.
He thinks of Tommy, fighting an unwinnable war because he believes he can overcome anything. He’s stubborn, so much like his father.
He thinks of Tubbo, still following loyally by Tommy’s side, even in a losing battle such as this. Of course, they’d have no reason to think it was a losing battle. They didn’t know what was about to happen. None of them did. But they would.
He doesn’t have to think of Wilbur; instead he looks at him, up and down and side to side. WIlbur, a boy he watched grow up, from the clueless child that just wanted his home back, into this man that stood before him now. A man he barely recognized anymore.
“I still have things to fight for here, Wilbur.” Techno’s voice is stern and unwavering. “Don’t you?” the question hangs in the open air, no response is received. None was expected.
“You know,” Wilbur starts, “there was a saying, by a traitor, once part of l’manberg,” as Wilbur slowly turns towards the button he speaks again, this time much lower.
“It was never meant to be.” Wilbur hesitates, for barely a second, and if Techno wasn’t so used to having to be constantly aware of his surroundings, a skill he picked up from decades of fighting, he likely would have missed it. And then the second is gone, and Wilbur firmly presses in on the wooden button on the wall.
Techno lunges forward, but he knows he will be too late to prevent the outcome of the button, to save Tommy, and Tubbo, and Wilbur, as much as he didn’t want to be saved.
Explosions rock the ground, the walls of the control room begin to crack and crumble around them. And as Techno turns his gaze once again back to Wilbur’s face he realizes that this had been the plan all along.
It was never about destroying tyranny, or government, heck it wasn’t even about getting revenge on Schlatt. No, this was and always had been about Wilbur, and as he had put it, his unfinished symphony. But it wasn’t over yet.
As the walls fell around them, and the ground started to crack and split, Techno could tell Wilbur was gone. The man who he had seen raised from a distance, always happy and calm was long gone, replaced now by a monster that only craved the destruction of something he had once held very dear.
Wilbur finally turned away from the button, turning to face Techno once again, an insane grin on his face.
“It’s done,” he said after a few moments' pause. “L’manberg, my great unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. It’s done.” And then he addresses Techno.
“I want you to kill me,” he says very bluntly. Techno takes a moment to process this.
“Heh!?”
There remains a few moments of silence after that, before Techno shakes his head, his braided hair pounding against his back with the movement.
“Absolutely not,” He says, moving to turn away, to leave. Wilbur grabs his wrist.
“It’s me, or it’s Tommy. We both know you won’t let it be Tommy.” Well there goes the walking away plan. Part of Techno wants to believe that Wilbur wouldn’t hurt his brother, that Wilbur still cares for him. The rest of Techno thinks back to the Pit, to Wilburs indifference. Techno makes his choice.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Techno bargains, almost begging Wilbur to reconsider, to think, to wake up out of this insanity and choose life. To choose his family. Wilbur shakes his head.
“It does,” he states. “It’s over, my stories been told. I will not be seen as a hero if I leave here today. So what will it be?” Wilbur’s smile is cocky, prematurely victorious. He’s won.
Do it the voices shout in his head.
Blood for the blood god!
For the blood god.
Techno looks back towards the destruction behind them, he can faintly see Tommy’s blond head and signature red and white shirt running towards them. Techno pulls his sword from his belt, the netherite shining and the enchantments enabling almost a glowing effect on the blade. His eyes beg Wilbur to say something, anything to tell him things don’t need to end like this, but he doesn’t. Instead, at the sight of the blade, his grin widens.
“Do it,” he urges, taking a step towards Techno. His arms feel like led as he leans forward, swiftly plunging the blade through Wilbur’s midsection. He can hear Tommys scream in the distance, the mutterings of the remains of l’Manberg as they gather to see what he’s done.
As he removes the blade, Wilbur falls to the ground, choking and spitting out blood, and wheezing for breath. Techno kneels beside him, gripping his hand in the opposite hand that holds the sword. Wilbur’s grin never fades.
“Th-ank y-you,” the traitor manages to choke out as the light leaves his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Techno responds, even though he knows it’ll never be heard. Wilbur is gone.
He lets go of his hand, moves to stand up off the cracked and broken floor of the control room, before hesitating. Instead, he reaches out with the hand that once held Wilbur’s own and closes his eyes.
He stands, sliding his sword back into its sheath. It's over.
Wilbur Soot is dead.
()()()()()
Techno doesn’t wait around for the revolution to quiet, he doesn’t stay to check on the carnage, or even to explain to Tommy what he’d just witnessed happen.
Instead he makes a hasty retreat, quickly fleeing the final control room and returning to his base, to his potatoes, his horses. He can’t stay this close to l’Manberg though. Not now, after what he’s done.
Blood for the blood god the voices speak again.
Philza won’t know.
He will never know what happened to his son.
It was probably meant to be reassuring to Technoblade, that Philza would never know what had come to pass, that he would never know it was Techno that took Wilbur’s life from him. But instead, the thought of Philza waiting up, wondering if his son was happy, eating and getting enough sleep, the thought that Philza wouldn’t know Wilbur was dead, wouldn’t know to mourn, those thoughts left Technoblade feeling as if his spine was made of ice. It sent shivers through his body and brought tremors to his hands.
Beyond that, the idea of Philza finding out through somebody else, through rumours past along from village to village, that scared him even more. The possibility of the man setting out, going to the local village for bread, and hearing the twisted rumours of his sons death, slain by the merciless Technoblade in cold blood, Techno couldn’t bear the thought of that being how Philza found out.
So he sighed, a heavy, resigned sigh, and stood from where he had taken a seat on a stack of hay in the horse pen.
“Well,” he said to Carl, “I guess we’re going on an adventure. I hope you like the snow.” The neigh Carl makes could almost be taken as an objection.
He was quick to prepare for the journey, emptying his inventory of potions and weapons and fireworks and storing his valuables in his ender chest-- including wither skulls for withers he had never managed to summon. He’d have to save those for next time.
He grabbed a few stacks of potatoes, wiped the blood from his sword and dug out an old, dirty compass from his ender chest. It was glowing a faint purple colour, enchanted with some pointless enchant,and linked to a lodestone through magic older then even Techno was, and along the side of the compass, the name ‘Philza’ was carved into the metal.
Techno ran a long finger along the side of the compass, feeling the engraved name with a faint, nostalgic sort of smile. If only this trip was for better reasons.
Haha simpnoblade one of the voices chimed in.
Its dadza time started another.
Techno let out an annoyed huff, muttering a “shut up” to nobody as he mounted the horse and set out away from Pogtopia, away from l’manberg, away from it all.
Techno doesn’t look back as the horse begins to run, not even once.
()()()()()
The compass directs him through mountains and forests and a few swamps. He crosses the desert and the ocean and even a jungle biome before the compass finally begins to move more rapidly, a sure sign that he is getting close.
Eventually the compass leads him into a snow biome, one that looks somewhat familiar to Techno, where the ground is cold and the sun barely shines through the dark clouds. He hasn’t been in this area in a decade at least. Technoblade shivers, the overworld much colder then the nether from which he came, especially in these parts. He wonders vaguely if that is why Phil chose to settle down here. He pulls his cloak to wrap around him tighter and urges Carl to go faster.
Eventually, when the sun has long since gone down and the temperature has gotten significantly colder, Techno sees a cabin upon the horizon, made out of cobblestone and wood and logs. Smoke bellows from the chimney and zombies wander outside. He’s arrived. Technoblade wishes he still had more to travel, surely the cold of the snowy tundra would be preferable to the conversation that awaited him inside.
Dismounting the horse, Techno guides it to a nearby fence post and ties it on, with a promise that the solution is only temporary, he swallows his nerves and approaches the door, climbing the stone stairs.
He freezes, staring in for a few moments before deciding to knock. He wonders briefly what Phil’s initial reaction will be-- delighted to see him or angry that he left all those years ago. Maybe both? Or something far worse? Selfishly he hopes for the former, even though he doesn’t deserve it, especially not now.
His stomach churns at the thought, but he steels himself and raises his hand, knocking once on the door, and then twice.
The door swings open before he can manage to knock the third time, and Techno is greeted with the face of a man he hasn’t seen in many years-- hasn’t seen properly since he ran off centuries ago.
Philza stares at him, his mind clearly in shock. With a deep breath Techno opens his mouth to speak. And closes it again. Opens it again, and his voice gets caught in his throat. His eyes drift to the single emerald earring hanging from Philza’s left ear, and thinks of the matching one in his own. He still wears it. Technoblade wonders if he still will when this conversation is done.
Stunnedza the voices chime in, perfectly timed as always.
“We need to talk Phil,” he finally manages to say, trying so hard not to choke them out, trying to hide his fear, of what hes unsure. Phils reaction maybe? Or that he will reject even the prospect of a conversation? Techno’s not really sure, but he does know that it isn’t working. Even after all this time, Phil knows him too well, he always has. He swallows his nerves, rather hard, and forces the words out.
“Wilbur’s dead.”
And so starts that moment of silence, in which even the sound of a feather hitting the floor would be deafening. The three seconds of silence between when you tell somebody something that is going to destroy them, and the moment they are destroyed. To Technoblade it feels like a million years, waiting for a sound, any sound. He can’t even hear his heart beating in his chest, or Philza’s panicked breathing audibly picking up. Was he panicked before? Did he already know?
And just as soon as it starts, that brief few seconds of painful, intolerable silence are broken, and Philza Minecraft falls to his knees, tears rolling down his face. This, this Techno knows how to handle, he did this for years, comforting Phil in his toughest times, it's the conversation that comes after that he is not prepared for. It’s so different now, so much has changed, yet at the same time everything is exactly as he remembers. Technoblade wonders if Phil even wants his comfort, his support, after all this time? His mind is torn but he knows he has to try. It’s Phil after all.
And so Technoblade, blood god, merciless killer, drops to his knees on the doorstep of the angel of death, the father of the man he murdered, his oldest friend if Phil even considers him a friend anymore that is, bringing his arms around the him and letting his head fall into his shoulder. Yes, this he can handle, this he knows. This is okay. Is it okay? Techno decides that it is, even if it hurts to hold him like this after so long, it's for Phil so it’s okay.
His red cloak becomes darker in the spot where Philza’s face is pressed firmly into his neck. His head feels heavy, as he reaches up and removes the crown that has sat there for as long as he can remember, laying in the snow next to him, and bowing his head into Phil too, inhaling the scent of smokey wood and fresh pine, the smell that is so uniquely Phil that he wants to laugh, and cry, and never let go. But he needs to let go.
()()()()()
Techno’s not really sure how long they spent out on that porch, just holding each other as Phil cried, and Techno’s brain wanders, wondering how this would play out, if this will be the last time he sees Philza Minecraft. He selfishly wishes he could have even one more memory of Philza being happy, but he knows he doesn’t deserve that either. Eventually the shaking slows and the wailing turns into pitiful sobs, and Technoblade slowly climbs off the cold, cold ground, pulling the green clothed man up with him. Idly Techno feels the cuts and bruises from the war now that things have calmed and the adrenaline has been lost to the cold. He aches, but he’s not done yet. The hard part is still to come.
Technoblade pulls the man more urgently, worried the cold might begin to have a negative effect on Phil without him having such heavy clothing to protect him against it. He ushers the man into his cabin and thinks about how maybe this might have been something he wanted, despite what he said to Phil all those centuries ago.
He brings the man to sit in an armchair and goes to the kitchen to fix them both a cup of tea, hoping that the familiar act would bring Phil some semblance of comfort even though he knows in his mind that nothing he does is going to help his friend very much right now. Armed with two cups of tea and his own brave face he makes his way to where he left Phil sitting.
There is silence for more minutes then Technoblade is able to keep track in his current state of mind. His thoughts run rampant without the distraction of sound to keep them at bay. It occurs to him that this is the first true silence there has been since the war happened, with the sound of Carl’s feet on the ground before and Phil’s sobbing on the porch. Even the fire has sunken down to embers now, left unattended for so long. Techno lays Philza’s cup next to him on the end table and makes his way over to the fire to bring it to life again.
Techno wonders if maybe he should say something, anything, to break the silence that has fallen over them. He looks over to Phil, to the way he sits shaking in his chair. Technblade wonders if it’s from the cold or the remnants of his sobbing. Whatever the cause, Techno doesn’t like it. He stacks a few extra logs on the fire.
He stands, moving over in front of the chair Phil sits motionless in. He positions himself crisscrossed in front of the man, facing him so that the tip of his knee brushes barely against Philza’s ankle, a silent form of support he offers without pushing the frozen man’s boundaries, especially when he’s clearly not in any mental state to pull away from unwanted comfort. He tries to speak but finds that doesn’t have any words to say.
Despite his itch to start the conversation, it still startles Technoblade when Philza’s voice, corse from his recent crying, and cracking with the sobs he's still holding back, fills the small cabin, swallowing the silence.
“What happened to Will?” Phil asks, and Techno’s mind freezes. He knew this question was coming, he had prepared for it, but that still didn’t mean it didn’t catch him off guard. He hesitates, wishing he was telling Phil about another stupid injury he’d recieved fighting, instead of this. Anything but this.
“Doomsday, a revolution, war,” Techno started, clearing his throat to fight off the fear that he was drowning in. “How much have you heard of l’Manberg?” He looks up towards Phil, looking for anything at all to tell him that things were going to be okay now. There is nothing to be found except a storm of emotions that only years of his life spent with Phil allow him to even slightly decipher what could be going through the mans head.
“Admittedly not very much,” Philza responds slowly, his voice barely understandable over the crackling of the fire, now burning far stronger then the embers that had been dying slowly when Techno got to it.
Stunnedza the voices taunt. Techno ignores them.
“There was um,” Techno stops, searching for words to describe the situation to Phil. “There was a war, a few actually, over music discs and independence, and an election,” Technoblade continues on. “Most recently, to remove the newly elected tyrant from office.” Philza nods, but doesn’t ask any questions.
“Wilbur is- Wilbur was one of the founders of l’Manberg. He lost the presidential election to a man named JSchlatt,” Technoblade pauses to take a sip of his tea. “Schlatt exiled Wilbur and Tommy not even minutes after he was elected president.” Phil reaches for his tea, his hand shaky. Techno itches to help him but he knows better than to try right now.
“The revolution began with that. Wilbur and Tommy formed a separate country, Pogtopia, for the intent of fighting back against the injustice. This is where things were at when Tommy reached out to me.” Technoblade can see Philza’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. The first proper display of a distinguishable emotion the man has shown since he stopped crying. Shock.
“Tommy contacted you?” He asks slowly, clearly wondering how his younger son would think to do that, or know how to.
“He did,” Techno agrees, continuing on slowly, unsure how Philza will respond to a lighter hearted comment. “Kid said something about bedtime stories?” He raises his eyebrow in Phil’s direction but doesn’t receive any response.
“And why would you go to him? You swore you would never get into a government's war again after the last time,” Phil is, as usual, very correct. That is something he said. And he had meant it. But Tommy and Wilbur were different. They weren’t government to him. They were Philza.
“He was your kid,” Techno says finally after a moment to think. “They were your kids and they needed my help and all I could think of was seeing them as children, and imagining them in a war as those children. I couldn’t do it.”
“You never met them as children, you left many centuries before they were born,” is Philza’s only response to Techno’s admittance. Techno looks up to his friend’s face from where he was twisting his hands in his lap, fiddling with the rings on his fingers to try to keep control of his ADHD.
“I never met them,” Techno admits. “I was afraid of what you would say after so long. I saw them a lot though.” Technoblade casts his eyes out the window, looking into the trees. Philza’s eyes follow his slowly.
“Why now?” Philza asks. “Why come back now then?” Techno sighs, looking at his rings again, knowing his next words might be the last words Phil ever tolerates him saying. This sentence might be the end of everything.
“I couldn’t let you not know, I couldn’t imagine you staying up waiting for him to come home unaware. I just–” He hesitates, looking up into Phil’s eyes slowly. “I couldn’t live with what you would have been told by hearing it through gossip.” Phil’s eyes darkened.
“And what would I have found out?” His voice is tight now, and Techno wonders if Phil’s intelligence has once again been too much. Wonders if Phil knows what he did. Why he was here today and not any other day.
“That it was me,” Techno says suddenly, shaking a little bit. “That I killed Wilbur Soot in cold blood.”
It’s silent after that. The silence reigns for countless minutes, with Phil never breaking the eye contact Technoblade initiated before the admittance.
“He gave me a choice,” Techno explains, “We won but it wasn’t enough. Standing in that room, Phil,” Techno pauses for a minute, gathering his thoughts. “He wasn’t the same. His mind lost to madness. Wilbur blew up l’Manberg.”
Philza sighed in resignation, knowing himself that Wilbur was often driven by emotion more so than rational thought, despite the persona he often put on.
“We won the war, beat the tyrant. We had won.” Techno stops, considering how to word what had happened. “But it wasn’t enough,” He continues. “It wasn’t Wilbur’s l’Manberg-- not in the way it was before.” Techno hesitates, unsure if he should proceed with this next part.
“He blew it up, all of it, the good and the evil, nothing was spared. And in the end, Phil, in the end he gave me a choice.” There’s silence, not unlike the one from before. If Techno hadn’t seen the way Phil’s eyes narrowed in on him he would've thought he wasn’t heard. But he had heard, he could tell.
“What choice.” It’s not a question, it's a demand, and the cruelty in his voice hurts Technoblade more than any injury he sustained in today's battle. More than any injury he had ever received. It felt like a knife to the chest.
“Him,” Techno starts slowly, his voice breaking slightly. “Him or Tommy.” This time Technoblade can easily see the point in which Philza Minecraft’s heart breaks in a way he will never be able to fully recover from. Seeing that pain on his friends face, knowing that it will live with him for the remainder of his immortal life, that is a heartbreak Techno himself will never fully recover from.
“Tell me you didn’t do it,” Philza’s voice is hard as stone, but his expression betrays him. His heart is crushed and there is nothing Technoblade can say that will help him. Not now, probably not ever.
“I-” Techno starts out to say, but Philza interrupts again, clearly done with being silent in his grief. Now he’s something else. Now he’s angry. At who, himself or Wilbur, Technoblade doesn’t know, but anger is definitely on the surface now.
“Techno, I need you to tell me it wasn’t you.” Techno looks down, then back to Phil. The use of a nickname only two people had ever called him, Philza himself, and Tommy. Technoblade is unsure if he will be able to remain strong now. The nickname gives him hope that he hasn’t lost Phil, he can’t lose Phil, but it also reminds him of Tommy, and what he had to do to protect him.
“I can’t.” And if he hadn’t been broken before, Techno would have marked this exact moment as the one where Phil broke. He’s crying again now, but no sound escapes. Technoblade wonders what will happen now.
“How could you make that choice?” Phil’s voice is strained, warring between anger and despair, hurt and vengeance.
“He forced me too” Techno’s voice wavers in a show of weakness only Philza has ever seen from him. “He- Tommy. He needed me to protect him. It was like when this all started. He needed me, and he is of you.”
“Wilbur needed you to save him,” Philza cries out, overtaken by the emotions he tried so hard to hold in, to hide. “Is his life not worth anything to you? Is it because he doesn’t look like me? Are you such a cruel man that one’s life is worth more than another?”
“No,” Technoblade speaks softly. “He was far beyond help,” he whispers, his voice cracking and hoarse, “I tried, I did Phil, please.”
“He wasn’t beyond my help,” Phil denies, standing from his chair, to put distance between himself and Technoblade. Techno lets him go, shifting to sit down properly and pull his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and twisting his golden rings.
“He was,” Techno insists, “he was beyond anyone's help, even yours.” Techno takes a deep breath in. “This was the best thing I could do for him,” he tells his lifelong friend. “I failed him once already, Phil, I couldn’t fail him again. Not in this.” He speaks of Tommy. He doesn’t say how he failed him before, but Techno knows that if Phil ever speaks to him again the topic will come up. His mind flashes to the pit, to the events leading up to it, and he wonders if Phil will let him live once he knows.
Philza knows its true, knows this was the only outcome, knows that Wilbur is-- was stubborn, and persuasive, and downright stupid. He knows this was the only outcome. He knows his sons, he knows how they were as children and he knows how they are as adults.
And he understands. That doesn’t make it hurt less. It doesn’t make everything, or anything okay. It doesn’t make Wilbur suddenly come back alive, healthy, sane and happy, but he understands. He turns around, slowly walks back to where Technoblade is sitting on the floor still, and slowly takes his arm, helping the man off the floor, and slowly guiding him towards a stool in the corner of the kitchen, next to a table.
He leaves Techno there for a moment, which makes him briefly wonder if Philza put him in a timeout. The train of thought is immediately dismissed from his head when Phil returns with a basin of water, and a familiar ornate box that Technoblade knows contains a variety of clips, bands and combs for his hair. He hadn’t realized Phil kept it.
They remain in silence while Philza washes the cuts on his face and arms, Techno having completely forgotten that he had just left a war, and was now caked in dirt, blood, and gunpowder. It's a comfortable silence now though. When hes done, he guides Technoblade back to the armchair, where he sits down and Techno sits in front of him. This is familiar. This is okay.
And if Phil absentmindedly combs Technos hair with his fingers, even after its long since untangled, Technoblade decides he is not going to say anything.