Work Text:
the phantoms are cackling.
grian is tired, so very tired, but he has never felt so alive. the moon looms over them, all cold, reflected light and jagged edges, and it no longer feels like something he can observe from the safe, cold room of his observatory, it is nothing measurable or quantifiable. it is beyond anything he knows, far beyond, and he can do nothing but worship in the face of it. he was a fool, for thinking he can figure out a way to rid the moon from the server. it is eternal, it is immortal, it is something that will exist in the world far longer than anyone else, it’s reflected light shining as they rot, slowly, ashes, ashes. they will wither into the ground, and still, the moon will rise.
the phantoms are cackling, and grian is tired, and he remembers a server he had built, a world that ended in blood and war and bloodied sands. he remembers standing on a mountain, blood staining his bruised knuckles, ghosts screaming above him, and he remembers what victory had felt like — a sickening, swooping mix of horror and elation.
the phantoms are cackling, and mumbo is stumbling next to him, unsteady, and grian looks up, up, up at the glowing thing that is coming nearer and nearer to them, and he giggles. “mumbo,” he says, voice too high and dripping with insanity, “is—” he snorts. “is the moon big?”
mumbo turns to stare at the savior looming above them, and snickers. “i—i don’t know, grian,” he laughs, and grian is joining him, and the phantoms are cackling and two half-dead men are joining them, “it—it might have grown just—just a little bit,” he snickers.
grian is gasping, tears flowing down his face, and he thinks of statues that sob when the sun rises, and laughs even harder. “i think it might be just—just a little bigger than usual,” he says, and he thinks he might not be here, not really, thinks neither of them are really here, he’s pretty sure that they are all still in a battlefield of red eyes and curses that take the shape of the monster under your bed, he thinks that maybe they are living in a world created by their twisted, broken minds. wouldn’t that be funny, he thinks. wouldn’t that be hilarious.
the phantoms are cackling, the world is falling, shattering, breaking at the edges, and grian has never, never felt so alive.