Chapter Text
"Oh, Crowfather!"
Poking out from over the edge of his birdbath, Phil's lip curls with disgust as he watches Tommy tower up to him. The young Avian is using a hodgepodge of cobblestone and netherrack, which is frustrating both because it looks ugly and because it's defeating the whole point of Phil's platform. The only other one that should be up here is Sneeg, and that's only when Phil permits him to be.
Speaking of which, the Inchling is still nowhere to be seen. It isn't like Phil is worried; Sneeg is just out on another mining trip, exactly as he told Phil. Phil isn't being lied to, and Sneeg will come back to him. Still, repeating those facts doesn't make it any easier to stop scanning the lands inside these mountains. Phil's sharp vision is primed to catch even the smallest movement from the smallest guy, but for the most part he's been using it to watch the Enderians teleport around and keep an eye on Tubbo as he hovers around his farms.
"Phil! Hello, is anybody home?" Tommy croons, waving both his arms in the air like Phil hadn't heard him the first time. Perched on the edge of his netherrack pillar, Tommy digs his feet in and flaps his stubby wings a few times before taking the leap onto Phil's deepslate platform.
"Tommy," Phil says, failing to keep the heavy exasperation from his voice. He rises from the birdbath, flicking water from his coat and swiftly donning his light armor. "Can you not build these ugly fucking towers? If you want my attention, just fucking message me or something."
Once he finishes pinwheeling his arms to keep him from falling off the edge, Tommy plants his hands on his hips and sticks his tongue out at Phil. "I'll build all the towers I want, bitch! Your thing is ugly too, you know, with these- these ugly fucking jet engines. Are you flying a private jet, Crowfather? Are you part of the one-per-cent, you piece of shit? Not like me, not like Tommy Innit, everyone knows that he's a man of the people—"
Phil places his head on top of Tommy's head and squeezes the curls there, just slight enough to stun him into silence. With his other hand, Phil massages the space between his feathery eyebrows, already feeling a headache beginning to bloom. "Alright, alright, I fucking get it, Tommy. What is it that you want from me?"
Between his spread fingers, Tommy pears up at him with bright blue eyes that are sharp with excitement. "Well, well, well. Wouldn't you like to know? Wouldn't you like to know the plans I've got up my sleeves?"
"I would actually, yeah. You know, so I can decide whether it'll be worth my time to help you out or not." Phil casts his own eyes away dismissively, making sure to feign just enough disinterest. Of course Tommy wants him there, what Phil really wants to make sure is that he's necessary. That this is something he can't do without Phil, that he needs Phil to lead whatever hare-brained project he's thought up now.
Tommy just laughs, though it isn't his normal high-pitched screech. It's far more theatrical, as he steps smoothly away from underneath Phil's hand and spreads his arm toward the snow-capped mountains to their west. "I'm afraid I can't explain, Crowfather. You'll just have to follow me, and trust me, alright? Nothing bad is going to happen."
Phil isn't sure whether to call it paranoia or good judgment, but something about Tommy's voice causes the feathers along his spine to begin to prickle. "Is this something I should empty my inventory for?" he asks, cautious as he steps over to the enderchest. "Is this some plan to steal my shit?"
"No! No, no, we would never steal from you. You would beat our asses," Tommy says with a very serious nod.
"Fuck yeah I would." Phil opens up one of his double chests anyways, stowing all the non-essentials inside. He double checks his enderchest, too, making sure all the right valuables are in the right spots. "Who's 'we', by the way? Who are you working with these days?"
"Oh, just the Il- Innit Incorporated, you know, that same old crowd," Tommy says with a high, obviously faked laugh. "You remember Innit Incorporated, don't you? We're the ones who gave you your name, after all. Made you the hero you are today."
Phil is pretty sure Tommy is trying to sound menacing, but the reminder only makes him scoff. "Right, is that what this is about? I'm not living up to being the hero you've expected of me?"
Tommy pauses, mouth slightly agape. "What? No, that's— have you— we'll talk about it at the meeting! Follow me, Phil!" With a running leap, he takes off from the platform on the opposite side he arrived from, downy wings beating furiously as they struggle to carry him the distance he's trying to go.
"At least take down your fucking tower!" Phil shouts after him, but by the time he stretches out his arm, he's already too late. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Me and Scott have got to be the only people who give a shit about keeping this area nice around here, I swear to fuck."
Twirling his pickaxe in his hand, Phil makes swift work of the tower, tearing through the cobblestone and netherrack with relative ease. He finishes so quickly that Tommy has only just reached the ground by the time he takes to the skies again.
"You make such a mess of these mountains, Tommy," Phil complains once he reaches the Avian again. Tommy doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on jumping and shoving netherrack underneath him in order to clamber up to the next ledge in the mountain. "Can't you figure out some other way up that doesn't make this place look like a disaster?"
"Well, maybe if someone bothered to put in paths, we wouldn't have this problem, now would we?" Tommy sneers, his curled lip dropping sharply into a yelp as Phil grabs underneath his arm and tugs him up further without needing to make a mess.
At the accusation, though, Phil drops him into the snow again. "Hang on, how the fuck's that my problem? You never asked me to build paths, and it's not exactly like I need them."
"No, of course you don't. Look at me, I'm the Crowfather, I can fly and I'm strong as shit and no one else has my power because I'm just that awesome."
Phil squints his eyes. It sounded like a compliment, but it was said in such a mocking way he's finding it hard to determine whether Tommy is actually upset at him or not. "What the fuck are you saying?"
Tommy huffs. "Never mind, Phil! Come on, follow me, but stay close, alright? I don't want you ruining the surprise!"
"I definitely don't think I like the way your voice just lifted there," Phil comments, but nevertheless settles down just on top of the mountain to wait for Tommy to finish climbing all the way up. He's not all that worried, really. He has his sword, and he has his wings. As long as Phil has the option to fight or fly away, all will be as it should. It doesn't stop him from pushing at Tommy, though, still suspicious of the avian's plans. "Can you actually tell me what's going on? Is this really just a meeting about the Crowfather business?"
"Yes!" Tommy shouts, almost defensively. "God, Phil, why can't you ever just believe me?"
"Oh, because you've made such a habit out of telling the truth," Phil retorts.
"Shut up, man!" Tommy mutters, sounding genuinely hurt. It's almost enough to make Phil's heart soften, until he remembers himself. He cannot be giving into the whims of every person here. He has to anticipate what they want and provide it, and what Tommy wants is Phil's praise. He seeks it out like Sneeg seeks out the flame of a lantern, which is exactly why Phil withholds it for those crucial moments.
With a sniff, Phil turns away and looks out over the plains and forests that stretch on past the other side of the mountain range. "So, where to next? Lead the way, mate."
"Uh..." Tommy looks left, then right. Just when Phil starts to make a comment about Tommy's navigational skills, the avian perks up, and leaps off the peak to the right. "This way, Phil, this way!"
Phil launches off the mountaintop and tips into a lazy glide, circling back and forth as Tommy makes the more direct, but still slower, trek down toward the riverbed.
Now that they're getting nearer, though, Phil is starting to notice some changes. The abandoned village that he pillaged months ago has been destroyed a little further, in a haphazard way that immediately identifies Tommy as the one who's done so. Then, there's the hole.
It's a jagged, nearly-circular thing starting at the top of the hill behind the village. Phil can't see what shadowy places it leads down to, which is enough to make Phil touch down on the grass and pause once he realizes that's the place Tommy is taking him. He curls his talons fingers around the avian's shoulder and tugs him back a few paces, ignoring the disgruntled look that's thrown his way. "Tommy, what's this?"
"It's— it's the meeting room, man! Jack found this sick cave, and we turned it into a fucking cool place, man!"
Still, Phil hesitates. His feathers refuse to lie flat on his back, a prickling wariness that doesn't know whether to pin as something unfounded. "I don't know about this, Tommy. Why didn't you build it in the sky or something? Or— hang on, why aren't we meeting in the Pube this time?"
Tommy spins around on him, knocking Phil's arm away as he throws his hands up in the air. "What the fuck do you want from me, man? Jack can't go in the sky either, and you hate my netherrack towers, even though they're the only way I can actually fucking get anywhere!"
Phil holds his hands up in an expression of ceasefire, wings flaring out in slight anxiety at Tommy's aggression. It isn't that he doesn't expect this kind of aggression from Tommy, but something about it still has him on edge.
It's probably because he doesn't have Sneeg with him- no one on payroll to watch his back. Phil's fingers twitch toward the golden apple in his inventory, but he doesn't dare show his hand in front of Tommy. Sneeg knowing is dangerous enough, the rest of the server has no business in learning about Phil in that way.
"You're right," he relents. "That does make sense. I hope it's not too far down in the cave, though. You know I don't do too well in tight underground spaces."
When Tommy flashes a smile at him, Phil takes it in the present as nothing more than genuine excitement, that same adoration he's held for the Crowfather that Phil has coveted. Later, though, Phil will look back and see something hungrier in that expression, excitement born of impending success rather than bright anticipation. "The meeting room looks sick, man, you'll see!" Tommy chirps, and Phil misses the cue for every horrible thing that is to follow.
Tommy hops and floats down through the steps of the roughly carved tunnel. Phil follows behind, grimacing as the meager slant of the path forces him to touch down. The whole way down Phil continues to look over his shoulder, keeping one eye on the sky for as long as he can.
"Long way down," he comments once he can no longer see the clouds above. Instead, Phil now eyes the path ahead, which has a ceiling that's steadily growing lower and lower over both their heads. "Did you really have to make it this deep underground, dude?"
Tommy nods solemnly. He's taken on a quiet air now, and Phil foolishly puts it down to him playing some dramatic part again. "They're all waiting for you down here, Crowfather," he says in a low, spooky-sounding voice that, frankly, Phil isn't all that impressed by.
Phil folds his wings at his back to keep them from brushing up against the ceilings and walls, which have only come in tighter around him. It's getting hard for him and Tommy to even walk side by side, which must be the reason Tommy suddenly slows his pace and winds up a little ways behind Phil. Phil nearly turns back with an objection, but his wings appreciate the extra inches of wiggle room, and he's starting to get impatient having to walk all this way. He just wants to figure out what Tommy has going on now.
"Is this some cult shit?" Phil says, keeping his voice dry so that his mind doesn't run too wild with paranoid thoughts. His hand continues to drift toward his sword, though with the ceiling this low on him, Phil knows it's going to be difficult to do much damage. He can already feel how he's beginning to grow weak; there's a wobble in his knees and an ache in his back where his wings feel too heavy for the rest of his body. "You didn't start a cult, did you, Tommy?"
Tommy laughs with a sharp, surprised-sounding screech. "You know, it's so funny that you say that, Crowfather! Quite a funny statement for you to make, yes, indeed."
Phil breathes out, and watches his air flicker the lights of one of the torches placed quite haphazardly on the ground. "Tommy," he starts, a new graveness to his voice. "Is this actually a meeting?"
"Not quite," a new voice calls. Phil's head shoots forward again, confused to see James step out of the shadows ahead of them. His whiskers twitch with a dramatic mischievousness. "I suppose you could call this more of an intervention."
"What the—" Phil's question seizes in his mouth when he hears the sound of someone suddenly and frantically placing cobblestone at his back. He whips around, jaw dropping, aghast as he watches Tommy close up the only way out of here. "Tommy!"
Four hands seize him on either side. Two sets of sharp claws dig into him at the left, and on his right his skin risks scalding with how the lava spits and burns. "Sorry, Crowfather," Jack says, determined in a way Phil has rarely heard from him. "This has to be done."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Phil screeches, flinching as the grip on his left arm stings with fresh blood. His wings flap with a fury, attempting to pitch forward in a glide that would at least allow him to do some damage to them, but he's too weak to do much more than twist his shoulders and try to sink his talons into the stone to regain some balance.
Even that is taken from him, as a swift knock from the butt of Tommy's iron sword sends Phil crumpling to the ground before he can get his bearings again. Phil struggles to lift his head up, only just managing to get a glimpse of Tommy standing over him. The avian's downy white wings are puffed up behind him, an expression of pride and triumph in more than just his face. "Excellent! Hand over your tools, Crowfather. Or our Illumi-naughty member Jack will burn you to a crisp with his terrible lava!"
Phil pants through an open mouth, eyes briefly squeezing shut in a wince as the pain in his arms and head rushes over him again. "Fuck right off with that," he spits, careful not to move his hand over any occupied space in his inventory. "You're not getting my shit, and you're definitely not keeping me here."
"Yeah, I don't know all about burning him, Tommy," Jack begins, hesitation coloring his previously firm voice. "I mean, we need him alive, don't we? That's like, the whole point of this."
"The whole point of what, you fucks?" Phil snarls, twisting his arm in another fervent attempt to free himself. His angry curses drop suddenly into a gasp of pain as James claws suddenly rake through his arm, further splitting his jacket and sending blood spilling down his arm and soaking into his shirt.
"I mean, my claws won't kill him, but they could certainly fuck him up good," James offers brightly. Phil falters to the side, but is pulled back up by the hand James still has on him. The grip is loose, but it's his left arm, and it's injured beside. Phil doesn't think he'd be able to reach his sword in time to do any damage with it, but it's looking like that might be the only choice he has.
"You know, James, you're a bit of a freak," Tommy says decisively.
"Yeah, why'd you say that so cheerfully, James?" Jack comments. "You're a bit of a freak, man. I knew you were a furry and all, but, god."
James sputters, grip loosening even further on Phil's arm as he takes offense from these two. "What the fuck— do you want his items or not?"
"I mean, yeah, but you don't have to be a fucking freak about it," Tommy says dismissively. The three continue their bickering, providing the perfect cover for Phil to flick his sword from his right hand to his left, twisting his wrist awkward to bring the netherite blade down on James' leg.
Unfortunately, Tommy's developing bird vision catches the movement quicker than Phil anticipates. An iron blade sings a bright song as it catches the underside of Phil's sword, freezing Phil's wrist. Tommy clicks his tongue. "Well, what have we here? Looks like someone's got a little bit of contraband in their inventory, doesn't it?"
Phil clenches his jaw, wincing as the press of Tommy's sword against his own twists his wrist at a painful angle. "I don't normally use it for fighting other people," he snarls. "This is a bit of a dire situation, though."
"Rules are rules, Crowfather," Tommy says in a dangerous, sing-song voice. His eyes have begun to glow a little brighter, a subtle reminder of the op powers he possesses. "No netherite for fighting others allowed. Give it here."
With a slow exhale, Phil releases his grip on his sword one taloned finger at a time, closing his eyes when it finally falls from his hand to the ground.
There's a long scraping sound as Tommy pulls the sword toward himself with the tip of his blade. The sheen has faded from his eyes now, but Phil still feels uniquely powerless as the iron blade is pressed up near his chin. "Now, the rest of your tools."
"What do you want?" Phil asks, desperately searching his mind for anything that would bring them back over to his side, rather than turned against him. "Why are you doing this?"
"Just hand over the tools, man!" James exclaims from his side, claws squeezing to draw even more blood from his arm. There's real anger in his voice, now, and Phil realizes distantly that trying to harm the guy who's caused the most injury to him now may not have been his smartest move, even if said guy is James.
For a scary moment, it looks as though Tommy isn't going to even bother answering. But it seems that the desire to be a contrarian toward whatever James says once again wins out, because Tommy nods. "Alright, Crowfather. You've made your demands. I'll tell you, but you have to give up all your tools, first."
Phil sets his jaw, and forces a breath into his tired, aching lungs. The sooner he can give them what they want, the sooner they'll let him out of here and he can fly back to his castle to plot his revenge. He's sure Sneeg will have some excellent ideas on what to do as soon as he hears about this. "Fine. I'll drop them, but you're not picking them up until you explain."
Tommy smiles at him, twirling his sword around in his wrist before sending it back to the depths of his inventory. "Fine."
It's an arduous effort for Phil to let go of his tools. Most of it comes down to the mental battle, the reluctant release of his prized possessions that he's spent good time crafting, but Jack's burning grip on his arm isn't making things any easier.
"There we go, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Tommy says once the items are all in a pile, in that soft, lilting voice that is so clearly only pretending to be comforting. Phil glares at him from underneath the brim of his hat. "You see, Crowfather, the three of us here have formed some sort of, how you say, an Illuminati. And our goal is a simple one. To distill power across all the land, and you, Crowfather, well, you're the most powerful one of us all."
Phil shakes his head, mostly in disbelief. "The fuck I am!" he argues. "Why don't you go after Scott? He's the actually powerful one around here."
"Well, Scott would just blow us a—"
"Shh, shh, Jack, please," Tommy interrupts with a wave of his hand, before freezing in place. "Sorry, did you just say Scott would blow us?"
"No!" Jack screams. "You fucking interrupted me, I was trying to say that—"
"Now who's the freak," James comments blithely.
"Fuck off!"
Tommy's wings rustle, extending fully again and drawing Phil's eyes right back to him. "Scott's just going through an emo phase, and we'll take care of him. But you, Crowfather, you're not only the strongest in abilities, but you're the strongest in morals. The people look up to you, you're their hero."
"You looked up to me once," Phil snaps. "If this is what that gets me, I'll happily fuck off and ruin all your lives, instead."
"I don't look up to you," Tommy argues, the flush to his cheeks betraying the clear lie. "I created you, Crowfather, and I'll end you, too. Your power needs to be shared, and I'm tired of being this powerless, flightless, fucking chicken!"
"That's what this is about?" Phil says. Desperately, he pulls forward, but the weakness compounded with the hold Jack and James still have on his arms does very little to gain any ground. "Tommy, I can't fix that for you. We tried, remember? The training? Maybe you just need some more time."
"Well, I'm all done with this fucking waiting!" Tommy declares. Before Phil can try to break free, Tommy scoops up the rest of Phil's items. He looks down at Phil with a jaw clenched so tightly that it trembles. "We'll move you to another place eventually, Crowfather. We haven't built it yet, but we'll have a proper place for you at some point. Maybe by the time we do, you'll be feeling a little more cooperative with our goals."
Those words open up a pit in Phil's stomach. "Wait. You aren't letting me go?"
This time, all three of them laugh, a horrible discordant chorus that makes all of Phil's feathers bristle in agitation again. Tommy sneers at him. "No, we're not letting you go. We need your power, remember? And you're going to give it to us, one way or the other." Phil stares at him in mute horror as Tommy lifts his chin, motioning to something Phil can't see. "Drop him in."
"Shit!" Phil attempts to lurch to his feet, but that only helps Jack and James yank him further backwards. Blind with panic, Phil flaps his wings furiously and ignores the way they painfully scrape against the low ceiling. Jack and James both spit curses at him, but although Phil is fighting them every step of the way, he can't do enough to stop both of them.
A burning uppercut slams into Phil's chin. He only just manages to catch Jack's grim expression behind his fire-bright eyes before Phil tilts backward through an open iron door. As the ground suddenly falls away underneath him, Phil's ankle buckles, and he crashes to the floor with a sharp groan.
As his heartbeat counts the seconds, Phil forces his eyes to open despite the painful pulse in his head, squeezing his fists against the stone floor as he tries to get his bearings. The sudden slam of the iron door sends his head jerking back up to the exit, dread filling his veins as he watches Jack and James walk away from the now-closed cell, satisfaction curling their expression.
Phil takes another moment to breathe, and analyze. He's boxed in on three sides, as this cell was clearly dug into a wall rather than constructed separately. The floor beneath him is a scattering of deepslate and stone, only rising once for a single row of cobblestone stairs before the locked exit. A single iron door blocks some of his sight line, but the iron bars on either side help him retain some visiblity, even though Phil already knows the bars are too close together to aid in his escape.
Past the cell door, Tommy still stands far back, face unreadable even with Phil's sharp vision. He hasn't moved since commanding his lackeys. The only thing that's changed is the sword in his hand, now glimmering with the inset diamonds that Phil had taken great care to press into the flat of his blade.
"This isn't going to work, Tommy," Phil says lowly. He isn't sure at first if the avian will be able to hear him from this far away, but when Tommy's wings puff up, Phil continues. "I don't know what you think you're going to be able to achieve, but this isn't going to go how you planned it."
The wings look more like they're trembling than fluttering. "Shut the fuck up," Tommy mutters, casting his eyes down to the floor.
Still too dizzy to try and stand, Phil spreads his wings instead. He lifts his eyes to the younger avian, and with a steadying inhale, he switches tactics. "You're really going to do this to me, Tommy?" he croons. It isn't hard to get the disappointment to fill his voice. "Come on, mate. What happened to that little fledgling I remember? The one who used to seek me out on the top floor of the Pube, way back when?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Tommy snaps, slamming the tip of Phil's pickaxe against the ground. "I'm gonna- I'm- don't let him fucking leave," he commands his lackeys. Tommy turns on his heel, and tears through the hastily-built wall he had blocked Phil in with. He runs up the tunnel too quick for Phil to call out again; a single white feather drifting to the ground is all that remains of his presence.
Avoiding the leering eyes of his two new guards, Phil heaves a sigh and presses his hands into the ground, folding his wings against his back in preparation of standing. He might not be able to get out of here, but he's not about to lie on the ground like some helpless thing. He's a king, after all. He should at least look the part.
In a smooth, familiar motion brought from years of picking himself up after crash landings, Phil slides his legs underneath him and stands.
There had been no reason to question the ceiling. It had looked like any other ceiling two blocks high—Phil had already been half-considering punching his way through it, should he actually get that desperate. But instead of his wings brushing the stone, Phil doesn't even get all the way to standing. His wings crush against some unseen barrier, and before Phil can stop his body in motion, his head cracks against the low ceiling, too.
Phil falls flat on his ass, with a freshly aching head and his jaw dropped in a stunned expression. Ahead of him, Jack is laughing, practically bent over at the waist as he covers his mouth in a poor attempt at hiding his smile. Phil glares at him, but he knows the look is weak, broken by the wince that keeps flashing across his expression.
From where he now sits, apparently confined to the floor, Phil stretches up his less-injured hand, which is somehow the one with several smarting burns. His jacket did a little to stifle the injuries, but there are several places where the dark fabric has burned or otherwise melted away, revealing painfully red skin in several places. Phil grits his teeth and tips his neck back, lifting his hand up to touch where the ceiling shouldn't be.
His hand stops about a block's length before it should, gradually flattening out to press against something unnaturally smooth. Phil's hand drops down immediately with a sharp gasp. "Barrier blocks?" he mutters, though not quite quiet enough to keep that confusion to himself. "What the fuck did you do? Why can't I stand up?"
Snickering from outside the cell catch his attention, shriveling all of Phil's wonder and confusion into frustration and shame. He doesn't know what's going on, and his head hurts too much to make any sense of it.
"Think this is a funny joke, do you?" he snarls to Jack, who's exchanging an unabashedly amused look with James beside him.
"It was kind of worth it to see the look on your face, I'll be honest," James says from the other side of the bars. He has the nerve to sound apologetic, which Phil almost finds more insulting than if he had just stayed sounding cruel. At least then Phil would know with absolute certainty to discount him from those he has still under his thumb.
But, no. The realization is creeping up on Phil, furthered by the anxiety and exhaustion this small space brings on. He can't trust anybody anymore, can he? If his first follower, if his most loyal fledgling can turn on him like this, then what does that say about everyone else Phil thought he had under his control?
Phil drops his head against his bent legs, bracing his pulsing forehead there, and tries very hard not to think about what that means for his position as king on this server.