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Shadows settle on the place that you left
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness
The sun slipped lower in the sky, evening darkness creeping across the scarred land that lay in front of the middle-aged man, this was not the first city he had witnessed the destruction of. In his many, many, many years through various worlds he had seen countless casualties, seen civilizations rise from the dirt and burn down around him, but none of that matched the emotional sinking that settled in his gut now.
Philza knelt beside his son, pulling his hat off to hold to his chest with his hand, pressing his forehead to the boy’s laying on the ground. His tangled hair stuck to the sweat on his face, the blonde man barely registering this fact as he mourned one he had not seen in many years, whose blood now stained his hands and pooled beneath his feet.
His mind drifted over the past few minutes in the detached state shock brings, the man flew a great distance to be thrust a sword and commanded to slay his own flesh and blood. The bone-tired exhaustion made his limbs feel like stones, heavy to match his heart.
He leaned back to observe Wilbur’s features, the peaceful face reminding him of when he was a babe sleeping in his fathers strong arms. He was older and more weathered here, but hints of what he observed for hours lay hidden among the scars and wrinkles.
Philza choked back sobs, his wings quivering behind him as he leaned back to rest on his feet, his vision blurry as tears streamed down his face. The brown traveler's cloak rested around him, the bottom becoming saturated deep red, pressing the green-white wide brimmed hat back on the crown of his head.
The yellow sweater his son wore emphasized the dark red that bloomed across his chest, around the stab wound that cut through his body. The pale flesh was shredded, bone and gristle showing through the sunflower-coloured window in the fabric caused by the sharp metal that lay at his side.
Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time
Eret stood, frozen in horror at the sight that was in the exposed cave above them. A blonde man with a green-white striped hat kneeled beside a man Eret once called friend, Wilbur’s body out of their view. They had a guess as to who the blonde was, Fundy had spoken of Wilbur’s father kindly though they had never met, describing him in near perfect detail.
Suddenly, they were thrown back to the day the group of founders declared L'Manburg independent, standing beside Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo as they signed the Declaration of Independance from Dream’s rule. Their cursive contrasted the messy writing of the others before, looking up once they finished signing to Wilburs brown, nearly black eyes. His small smile was kind and comforting that day, Eret didn’t recall ever seeing that expression cross his face again with such ease.
Wilbur had been such a pillar of strength at that time, a driven and passionate man who thought he was doing the best for everyone. Their regrets outnumbered their own emotions reflecting on what was and what everything had become.
Eret stood dressed in armor, polished to perfection and oiled with meticulous intent, ready to protect the country they originally became traitor to. They watched as the blonde man mourned what he had done, committing everything to memory to recall later, promising themself they would note every bloodstained detail about this day.
From the perfect start to the finish line
And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones
Tommy caught his best friend's eyes from where he stood, hunched and looking very confused. Tubbo’s clothing was torn, wounded and soot covered, in the remains of all they had built. The trio was forever split between life and death now, his brother-in-arms lay dead at the feet of the blonde avain man whose black wings matched those of a crow. The air tasted of smoke and ash, the original three a new two, Wilbur had raised and destroyed L'Manburg, just as he had raised and destroyed Tommy’s innocence to the world. His ideas were what they brought to fruition, which he subsequently smited when his own mind became his greatest enemy.
Tommy knew as much as they would try to forget this day, it was forever burned into his memories. History would record it as the day a villain was purged from this earth, but all Tommy could think about was the immeasurable amount of memories that were all tainted with sadness after today.
Tubbo moved to stand beside his best friend, reaching out to hold his hand, tears streaming down his cheeks. The gap of what was stood huge between them, missing the man they once laughed with, the leader that once was. Tommy once would try to make a joke, bring cheer to any situation, but now his words were robbed from him by the sheer sadness that coursed through his veins.
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs
Setting fire to our insides for fun
Eret stood in their museum, months and months later, writing the panels for the photos that adorned the walls. Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur and themself smiled at the camera in the frame they held in their hands. It was taken the day Dream gave them their rights as an independent nation, the four were all in identical uniforms in various states of cleanliness.
Eret had been sure to press theirs, smoothing all wrinkles from it, then offered to help with Wilbur’s as well. The two teenage boys' uniforms were wrinkled, Tommy already had a patch on his even though they were only a day old. Tubbo’s cheek was smudged with dirt, both boys' blonde hair was messy and wild. But all four people shared identical wide grins of victory, a book held tightly in Wilbur’s hands, the proof of their success.
That was one of the memories Eret clung to the most, in the late nights when their guilt awoke them in a panic, they reached for the good times. For the times they shared comradery, shared uniforms, shared ideals. To stave off the deep agony that the betrayal caused them, in the latest of nights when anxiety stole their breath away.
Before their biggest regret, pressing that button in the room soaked in shadows, signing the lives of the ones they cared for most over to Dream and his cohorts.
All for an empty title and promise for peace.
With that thought, they took time printing in their best letters, the names of the ones they betrayed sketched forever on the walls of what they built to educate others to not follow in their footsteps.
Their smooth hand trembled as they finished writing Wilbur’s name, a tear dropping onto the panel.
Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong
The lovers that went wrong
Tommy, Tubbo and Wilbur chased each other around L'Manburg, inside the walls that kept them safe. Tommy had stolen the pen Wilbur was just using and had placed down for a second to attend to his son Fundy. Tubbo joined the pursuit with Fundy held in his arms, laughing loudly as Tommy screamed profanities and insults at the ones following him.
His blonde curls flew in the wind as he ran past the pond Tubbo had just finished digging, maniacally giggling as he got further away.
“TOMMY! I NEED THAT!” Wilbur shouts after the obnoxious boy, who tossed a wild smile his way.
“WHY DO YOU THINK I TOOK IT, BITCH?” The accused boy screamed back, reminding Wilbur just how childish this boy could be.
We are the reckless, we are the wild youth
Chasing visions of our futures
“What are you doing?”
Wilbur turned, staring at the man he called his father, whose blue eyes were locked with his intently. The smooth handle of his sword slipped in his palm, reminding him of the heavy weight that hung at his side. He didn’t move the sword to defend himself, the thought didn’t even cross his mind.
“Phil, what are you doing here?”
“Wilbur. I heard the commotion outside, it seems there is a new leader of L'Manburg.” Philza greeted, his expression guarded as his eyes darted around the room, settling on the boy in front of him. “You just gained it all back, do you really want to blow it all up?”
Wilbur’s mind was made up in that moment, for once the voices in his mind quieted as the steel of an irreversible choice steadied him.
“It was never meant to be.” Philza lunged to stop Wilbur as his hand descended on the button, a moment too late as explosions blew out his ears.
The avain moved on instinct, leaping across the room to shelter his son in his arms, wings surrounding them as he tossed them away from the noise further into the room. Feathers on his wings burned in the fire of gunpowder that surrounded them, Philza screamed at the searing pain protecting his son caused him.
Ringing sounds reminded the man he was still alive, as he pulled back to meet his son's eyes Wilbur pulled away, swaying and confused. Black, singed feathers coated the floor around them as Philza attempted to spread his wings to release them, gasping at the sensation of burned skin stretching. He had saved the pair, but it seems at the cost of his wings.
Wilbur slunk away, further away from the avian man who pressed his hands into the floor, breathing deeply and coughing with the ash coating the air. Wilbur barely noticed the open hole blown into the hill beside them, sliding his sword across the floor to the wounded man.
“Phil, kill me!” He begged, not wanting to live to see the consequences of his actions, lamenting; “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished.”
“PHIL, KILL ME.” Wilbur’s voice cracked, meeting the blue eyes of his father, hoping he would be the one to release him from the thoughts crowding his mind.
One day, we'll reveal the truth
That one will die before he gets there
Fundy hid himself in a forest away from the crater his father created, clutching his bleeding arm as he stumbled away from L'Manburg’s land. All the fox knew was he had to leave before he saw his fathers corpse again, his ears pressed tighter into his head at the thought.
When he wrote those letters pleading with the man he only knew through words to come back and talk sense into Wilbur, he did not mean this. He did not mean permanently ending any chance of his and Wilbur’s reconciliation, something he once held hope for.
When he saw the tattered man deep within the ravine of Pogtopia, the crazed glint to his eyes scared the hell out of the teenager. They had not spoken in months, with Fundy having subjected himself to Schlatt’s rule to gain inside information, becoming shunned from everyone besides his childhood protector, Eret and a book that held the evidence of his treason.
With that painful thought, he clenched his hands, reminding him of the physical wound deep within his forearm. Blood flowed heavier when he pulled his hand away, wincing while he viewed the three inch gash in his skin.
Fundy knew he had to deal with the wound before infection, but right now the pain was the only thing keeping him grounded. It was the only thing pushing the shock from his system at what he just witnessed, what was just ripped from him. A deep anger began to take root in the mind of the teenager, the events of today altering history forever.
And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones
'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone
We're setting fire to our insides for fun
Tubbo stood on the dock of the new L'Manburg, proud of all that had been accomplished over the past while. Clean houses lay scattered throughout his city, many hands making light work as they raised a new city from the ashes. Water lapped at the stilts his city now stood on, above the crater of what the First President caused.
“Tubbo!” Ranboo’s voice called from inside the town hall, his minutes man beckoning him.
Tubbo walked inside, out of the sun’s warmth, straightening his suit anxiously as he plotted out the next tasks to accomplish. Ranboo turned to him with a smile, their smile wide as they pointed out the picture they just hung on the wall.
His cabinet was captured perfectly in the photo, all wearing identical smiles as they posed on the day the city’s construction was finished. The photo reminded him of the time before Wilbur’s chaotic decision, the one he had snuck into the museum to look at. Tubbo had a lot of trouble facing Eret still, memories of a blood soaked room rose when he saw them, echoing with screams and death.
Tubbo had seen too much blood for one so young, too much destruction.
He didn’t even notice the disassociation until Ranboo laid a calming hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. The enderman hybrid was quickly growing on Tubbo, starting to fill the hole in his heart two absences caused, it would never heal perfectly, but it was a good start.
Tubbo placed his hand on top of Ranboo's, observing the picture in front of him.
It was a new start, a good one, and hopefully his last.
Collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home
It was a flood that wrecked this home
Ghostbur floated high in the sky, crafting lanterns to light up the city below him. The spirit noticed all the glances the others gave him, the blatant distrust clear on their faces. He wasn’t sure what had happened, he knew he was a person before he woke up in this form but he retained none of the memories of tragedy, of death.
The only ones who treated him with kindness were Philza and Ranboo, two of the newer members to this world according to the gossip of others. They were the only ones who regarded him without blame, with love.
While others shooed him away they enjoyed his company and his ramblings, encouraging his rebuilding of a nation once destroyed. Ghostbur reflected happily on the past interactions between them, beginning to make another lantern with his blue-stained hands.
And you caused it
And you caused it
And you caused it
Well, I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette
Tommy stood in Logstedshire, trading glances with the ghost of a man who once led him. No matter how many times he spoke with the spirit he never quite lost the rush of terror and devastation he felt when they spoke. Seeing the face of someone he once would throw himself in front of to protect caused the boy pain, a devastating feeling for one he once called a brother.
But right now, Ghostbur was some of the only company he had in exile, the only voice besides his out here, far away from anyone else.
Often Tommy woke up screaming from the nightmares his brain tortured him with, Wilbur standing in front of him smiling, blood and fire in the background as his brother laughed, the former Presidents words echoing through his brain.
Tommy scrubbed his face clear of tears those nights, singing the L'Manburg anthem to himself to soothe the thoughts that rushed his mind about what he lost when Wilbur died on the sword of Philza. When the ghost was there he offered comfort which Tommy would reject, wishing for the man the spirit replaced.
His leader used to speak of freedom, of no rules, then Pogtopia happened.
That's when Wilbur was left for too long in a cave that drove him insane, pushing away everyone who showed any care.
I'm a lifeless face that you'll soon forget
And my eyes are damp from the words you left
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest
Philza had finished building his house in new L'Manburg, the paint still drying on the outside walls. Tubbo and Ranboo had just left, the morning sun high in the sky. The two boys had stopped by to drop off some books, Philza had asked them to drop off any histories they had written by his son. The leather-bound journals lay stacked on his table, untouched by the avian.
The deep rooted guilt lay heavy in his gut, grounding him to where he stood, staring at Wilbur’s name etched into the cover. The immortal man rarely felt such despair at a chain of events he was a part of, but killing his son left a mark in his heart, one he doubted would ever heal.
Just like the hole he carved into his Wilbur.
With a large sigh, he moved to open the cover, greeted by a picture of the First President smiling in the author section of the book.
A tear dropped onto the page beside the photo, blotting into the name printed on the page.
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest
And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone
Setting fire to our insides for fun
To distract our hearts from ever missing them
Tommy stood at the entrance to the prison, the one housing his greatest enemy, alongside two of the people he trusted most, and the shadow of one who betrayed them all but didn’t remember. Tubbo and Ranboo expressed their concern over his plan, one he knew was impulsive and emotion-driven, but were there to support him no matter what.
The only thing missing from this plan was his brother, he thought to himself observing the ghost speaking softly to the blue sheep he called Friend. They had the remnant, but nothing would ever replace what Wilbur meant to Tommy.
Tommy shook off the thought, reminding himself that he must focus if they are going to pull off this plan. He wanted that green bastard dead, no matter the cost, even if it cost him everything he was going to remove that stain from this world. He wanted to kill the one who isolated him, encouraged worse instincts, and manipulated him.
He wanted to get back at the one who provided his brother with the means to blow up something they all cared about, because he couldn’t stand anyone else having control of it.
No matter how long it's been, the bittersweet agony of a life ripped away too quickly will sting forever.
With that final thought in his head, he drank the invisibility potion and walked at Ghostburs side towards the portal, the soft fur of the sheep brushing his thigh, a contrast to the heavy axe hung on his other side.
But I'm forever missing him
And you caused it
And you caused it
And you caused it