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When the eggs didn't come back, the world didn’t end. The sun rose and set the same as it always did, though it was certainly a little less bright in their absence.
But that was a long time ago. And the world is ending now, for real this time.
He feels the change in the air; he feels the first thread snap somewhere deep in the heart of the world. It’s almost nothing, similar to a pin dropping on a marble floor a mile away. But the snap echoes through the vast empty spaces he has become one with.
He is the dread that envelops the island. He is the eternal, raging storm- wind ripping and tearing across the landscape. He is the flood pouring down, soaking to the very bedrock of the world.
He can feel that there is a weak point in the universe now, and the surrounding threads can only support the weight of the void for so long. A second thread pulls and snaps, and then a third goes with it.
He could be pulled in so easily, he would just need to wait. He is so bound to this world that as it rips apart he’d go too- when the sky rips apart he would rip with it, as he is part of the sky, and part of each block of dirt dripping with the rain of grief.
He could go so easily.
Instead, he pulls himself together from all corners of the island. He stitches darkness to itself, gives it mass, makes it dense. The raging clouds fade out and the stars and the moon are visible for the first time in a millennia. They shine down on a world they would not recognize.
The moon sets, the sun rises and then it sets again. And again and again and again and again. Time had no meaning for so long, but now that it is running out, he starts feeling each day pass by.
More threads in the woven tapestry of the universe unravel, slowly for the time being. Which is good for him, he needs as much time as he can get as the process of becoming takes time of course; to take unbound rage and grief and give it a body is a meticulous process.
After what must be years, newly formed legs touch the ground on all fours and a snout sniffs the scarred ground, ashen and barren with deep cracking from a torrent of rain ending in an instant.
His form is massive, bulging in places where his soul, no longer used to being confined in a body, tries to push its way out. He is part creature and part something else.
He runs.
He runs through withered forests, barreling down skeletal trees with his half formed body, his brand new eyes seeing for the first time.
He does not think; not yet. He runs through instinct alone. He would know where to run in any form though. To what was once the eye of his raging storm, the only place on this island spared from his wrath.
His monstrous form refines with each shadow he passes through. He no longer drips with unrefined void. His bounding gate slows down and he stands upright on two legs.
For a time his limbs swing, long and clawed and sharp. A human’s nightmare, the monster under the bed.
Each change happens quicker and quicker. He refines himself- almost done. His claws reform into hands, he shrinks down to human height. He pulls his hood above his head and he adjusts his checkered scarf.
He is BadBoyHalo again.
He weaves between the trees that he previously tore through. He feels small. He feels so much again, a hot ball of emotion as dense as a dying star within him.
He’s almost there now, and he needs to get it together before he arrives. For him.
He takes the scenic route, stopping at every site since this will be the last time they’ll get a chance to be witnessed. The sites, of course, have seen better days, but he does not hold that against them, with the humans gone and all.
He climbs through the ruins where a great castle once stood, fallen black and red towers embedded half in the earth. He thinks of the winding labyrinth beneath his feet, half collapsed hallways and caved-in rooms dedicated to mysterious deities. He thinks of the two lovers entombed below him, somewhere.
He won’t hold that against them either, as it’s what humans have always done and what they do best. They grew old and no matter how hard they fought against it, they died one by one.
But before the humans died, they lived.
Bad smiles for the first time. He veers east and visits a perfectly circular quarry, once empty but now filled with still water, and he thinks about two golden rings buried somewhere on the center island. He runs his thumb over his ring finger in what used to be a familiar motion.
He remembers running across the island, hand in hand with a beautiful blonde man, his other hand clutching the biggest bouquet of flowers he’d ever seen.
He remembers the newlyweds tripping over themselves up the marble stairs to visit a golden statue by the sea, to tell it the good news.
He remembers visiting the statue again to tell it about their divorce- Bad knew he’d want to hear about his suffering. He’d visit every time the pair remarried and divorced as part of the games they played with each other.
He can’t quite remember the exact curve of the beautiful blonde man’s nose, or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed anymore, but he still loves the man and he always will.
He accompanied others too, when they visited the statue by the sea with their own news. The islanders kept the statue updated with every bit of fofoca- how they married and divorced and fought and loved.
Soon enough walking the stairs to the statue became harder for some of the members. Weak knees and bad backs, and a distinct lack of guardrails to cling to. But they’d climb regardless, with more somber news as the years passed- who went next, how old they were, who was left.
The bluebird sat with the statue more than anyone else, aside from Bad himself. Until she flew off to gods know where.
Bad was the one to deliver the news to the statue when the last human was gone. He wouldn’t have bet money that it was going to be the wastelander outliving the rest, but he couldn’t say he was surprised.
The immortals and the non-humans left at their own pace after that. Two demons dressed in pink and purple opened a fiery staircase to some version of Hell next to the statue, but they lingered on the first steps for a few extra days before they said their goodbyes, hoping to hear an ‘I’ll see ya when I see ya’ before their departure. They ended up saying it themselves- a promise to the statue.
The old crow had sipped tea with Bad by the ocean. An extra cup was made as well, just in case.
As the extra cup cooled down, untouched, the crow looked at Bad in that peculiar way he looked at everyone, the one that saw through you to see a version of yourself you didn’t quite understand.
The crow had said, “I’m leaving the server today,” in that confusing way he did sometimes.
The crow had said, “I can invite you to where I’m going too, if you’d like. There may be some admins you’d like to see where we end up next,” and glanced at Bad like that meant something.
Bad declined, he had said that he needed to stay here.
The crow understood, and before he flew off he told Bad, “I’ll leave a path. For both of you to follow. See ya, mate.”
The old crow flew off after that, he wasn’t one for drawn out goodbyes.
But that was all a long time ago.
Now Bad stands before the only structure left standing in the otherwise barren wasteland this island has become. It is a carved stone dragon emerging from the water- it is worn but it is still here. It was the best Bad could do, to keep it standing.
It needed to be a good view.
He climbs the hill and sees the familiar golden statue sitting at the foot of the broken waystone. It sits upright, legs crossed, with moss creeping up the legs and thighs where they meet the grass. Its hands are in its lap, with one holding a glowing, golden banana and the other holding something that is long gone, fabric that rotted away with time. Golden hands clutching empty space.
Bad smiles and thinks about simpler worlds, and he thinks of public statues of dogs, where the snoots stay glowing gold where the people pet them. Eternal good boys. There are bright spots of polished gold on the hands and on the chiseled jaw of this golden statue, where they’ve been constantly touched by the remaining island resident.
Maybe the next world will have less landmines, less evil shadow organizations. Maybe it’ll be quieter, with coffee shops and parks and dog statues to pet. It’s been so long since Bad has heard his signature barking.
Bad sits next to the statue and follows its empty gaze out to the dragon statue and to the ocean.
“So… you come here often?” he tries, but he’s met with silence. It is an eerie silence - there is no more wind, no living creatures left, they’re at the very end now.
The shift in the world had been slow at first, but it feels like it’s coming faster, exponentially tumbling towards them. It took a thousand years for the first thread to unravel, and then a thousand more for the second, but now the stitches are barely hanging on. He can feel it and he knows he can feel it too, somewhere in there
He waits until he can’t anymore. “Foolish, it’s time to go.” Bad finally says.
He places his hand on the statue’s own, his hand eclipsing the shape of the golden polish perfectly, and tries to transfer some of his energy into the cold metal.
The energy that makes up the two of them is like oil and water, but giving him just a bit will give a kick start to his system. He feels it like molten lava where they’re touching, leaching out of Bad and bleeding into icy gold.
He can barely hear it, coming out of the statue’s mouth like a ventriloquist, “Just a little longer. Just got to wait”
Bad frowns and he shifts to look at the statue, to look at his friend. Cracks in the gold have splintered at the mouth where the tiny words were whispered out, where they continue to drone out now like a mantra.
“Just waiting… jusssttt waiting. Just gotta wait.”
Dull emerald eyes stare out at the ocean, “Waiting… waiting…. Just a little more waiting…”
Bad looks up from the cracked mouth and follows lines of pronounced tarnishing that streak down below those unblinking eyes, and the words grow fainter, “More waiting. Just waiting. Just waiting…”
The mumbling turns into a whisper, and is gone again.
Bad could never forget the way his friend yells and screams, no matter how many thousands of years of silence there are between them. He wants to forget this now, though. His friend was not made to be this quiet, this still.
He reaches out and holds his friend’s face in his hand in the way he’s done so many times over the past millennia. One of the small comforts he’s allowed himself, one that he’d never live down if his friend were to find out. He runs his thumb over that bright, glowing jaw like he’s done a thousand times before.
Bad looks again at the pronounced tarnishing running down the statue’s cheeks. He swipes his thumb over it, feeling the gritty texture.
“You’re a bit tarnished there, Foolish.” he says, the tiniest quirk of a smile forming. If there is any luck left in the world then maybe, just maybe.
Bad continues, “Someone has to buff you out I guess.”
He waits, but nothing yet, so he perseveres, “If you ask nicely I’ll buff you out.”
Something flickers in the statue’s emerald eyes. Bad grins, “It’ll need a lot of buffing though, I definitely have my work cut out for me…”
He can feel the chiseled jaw twitch under his fingers, “Really Foolish, so much tarnish I may need to use both hands to buff you out.”
Bad scooches back, stops touching Foolish’s face before he gets caught. A second before those emerald eyes close and the statue, miraculously , leans forward, mouth opening in a silent giggle.
“I guess I would just need to buff you at first but you could probably finish buffing yourself. I could hold your banana so you could buff yourself out…”
The giggle breaks into a gasped wheeze. A golden arm moves for the first time in centuries to cover a golden face. His other arm stays in his lap, his fingers squeezing Bad’s with every giggle, neither of them noticing that their fingers are still intertwined.
“Why are you laughing, Foolish?? This is serious! You know what happens when you go too long without buffing, that’s not healthy for a growing man!!”
He sees them then: shining emeralds peeking at him between fingers, before the eyes shut again in laughter. Foolish’s shoulders shake as he muffles the high pitched wheezing in his hands.
Bad leans back, though his brain protests. He wants to touch those shaking shoulders, they look warmer than they did a minute ago, less and less metal. He wants to feel the life return to his friend.
“Wait, have you ever buffed out gold before Foolish? Do I need to teach you how to do it? Would this be your first time buffing yourself?” he asks, grinning.
“ Bad! ” Foolish finally yells. His voice warbles from the lack of use.
“ What?!”
“Bad what the fuck!” He laughs and laughs.
“Language!” Bad answers, “I don’t get why you’re laughing? We’re talking about caring for precious metals! It’s nothing to be embarrassed about if it’s your first time!”
Foolish rubs his palm into his eyes and between wheezes he repeats, “‘Caring for metals’ sure buddy!”
“Foolish! Sometimes you have to buff out your friends! Aren’t we friends?? Wouldn’t you buff me out if it was a life or death situation?”
This kicks Foolish back into another cycle of self sustaining laughter, pulling their entwined hands to his face. Bad can feel puffs of warm breath pour out, weaving between his fingers with every breathless exclamations of ‘buffing!’ and ‘you little idiot!” mixed in.
The wheezing turns back into giggles, then just a soft chuckle, then silence again. Foolish’s face is still in his hands, but his shoulders are still again.
“Bad?” Foolish asks, quietly, after a prolonged silence.
“Foolish?”
Foolish finally lets go of his face. His glowing eyes follow the curve of the dragon statue and his eyebrows furrow. He opens his mouth, but closes it again. He doesn’t seem to notice, but his grip tightens.
He turns back and looks at Bad. He looks lost, searching Bad’s face for answers. His voice is so small, it’s barely anything at all when he finally says, “I- I waited Bad. I waited. Where are they?”
Foolish’s mask was shattered into a thousand pieces between them and neither of them could possibly put it back together.
“When he left it was ok, I said- I said ‘ok I wait.’ And I did, and then I did. And I waited longer than I even knew him. But I wait- that’s what I do, I wait.” This voice is still so quiet, so wrong coming out of Foolish’s mouth. Foolish looks at the eternal banana, glowing and enchanted, then looks to his other hand, now holding onto Bad’s like a lifeline, but previously had been empty and even before that, clutched around long lost fabric.
“And then Leo… ”
Or maybe the mask was already shattered. Maybe it shattered the last day Bad spoke to him; the day Foolish smiled so, so big, sitting down with his back to the Foolich warpstone and told Bad I wait! I wait. Surely they’ll be back soon.
Bad can’t even remember now- did someone call him away? Why did he leave Foolish at that moment? What he can remember, what he’ll always remember, is looking back before warping away and Foolish waving goodbye, holding Leo's tiny hat in his other hand. Even as he warped away, a chill went down Bad’s spine. An unspoken understanding between immortals, and what it meant for someone to wait, when time didn’t matter.
Foolish finally lets Bad’s hand go.
“Foolish…” Bad starts, but what can he possibly say? What has not already been said? What can a raging storm offer an unfeeling statue?
What can a grieving father say to another grieving father to make it hurt less?
“I miss them too, Foolish. So much.”
It’s not anything, but it’s the only thing there is.
“It hurts, Bad.”
Silence falls heavy between them. He wishes they could keep doing what they had been doing for centuries, because at least that didn’t hurt like this did. He can’t remember much when he was darkness and storm and anger, but that was the charm of it. When he hung over the island and drowned it and ruined it, his rage and his rain and his fury diluted the sadness until he could just barely feel it.
He feels the seams of his humanoid form, and the white hot ball inside his chest bursting to disperse again. His traitor brain, since having stitched back into matter, has not stopped screaming and sobbing:
Dapper. Dapper. Dapper. Pomme. Pomme Pomme.
He wants to apologize for taking Foolish away from the cold nothingness of metal. “Foolish, I-”
Foolish ignores him, waving a hand dismissively and stretching his legs out in front of him. He has hit his limit of ‘being vulnerable around Bad’ and Bad understands with the single gesture.
Foolish is a language he has not read in so long, but will always be able to read.
Bad watches as his friend pushes himself off of the ground with alarmingly cracking knees, letting vines and moss rip away from the ground as they cling to Foolish.
Foolish stretches his arms up over his head, he twists and pops several vertebrae in his back.
“Fuuckkk,” he sighs and leans into the arching stretch. Bad can see his stomach, golden and smooth, but now made of soft skin and a whisper of hair.
“Language,” he warns again, light and fondly this time.
Foolish holds out his hand again and Bad accepts it. Both their hands are warm. Foolish pulls Bad to his feet and Bad forgets the aching need to apologize, as they were never meant to be any forms but these.
Foolish stretches again, and lingers for a moment touching the gritty tracks of tarnish and rust that have not quite disappeared from his cheeks. He touches what was once the smooth bright spot on his jaw as well and Bad knows that he knows.
Because the reverse is true as well- Bad is laid open for Foolish to read and he always has been. Foolish punches him in the shoulder with enough power to make Bad stumble and he laughs as he tells him, “You’re a freak.”
Bad shrugs, smiling, “I’m just a lil guy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Foolish rolls his eyes, glowing emeralds once again. He has not let go of Bad since he helped him up.
Open books.
Foolish seems to notice the stillness of the world and he says, “So it looks like it’s time to hit the ol’ dusty road, huh?”
“It is.” Bad says, “This part never gets easier, does it?”
Foolish shrugs, “It is what it is. Sometimes when we jump, I forget, you know?”
“Do you want that? To forget this one?”
Foolish’s eyes wind up the dragon statue, “If it happens it happens.” An aloof answer, vague and on brand.
Bad reads between the lines, “Me neither. I don’t want to forget a second.”
“Yeah,” he agrees softly and earnestly. Foolish leans down to pick up the eternal banana and place it on the top of the crumbling waystone.
Bad lets go of Foolish’s hand to give him time- as little of it that they may have. As he steps down the marble stairs, he touches his ring finger again.
He materializes his scythe and starts calculating in his head, feeling for a previous rip in the world made by an old crow.
Soon Foolish hops down the stairs and sits on the last one to watch him work.
“You know you never finished the Titan,” Bad comments as he finds a seam in the world and follows it with his fingers in the air.
Foolish groans, half devastated half laughing, falling backwards on the stairs, “Oh fuck. Shit I knew I forgot something. Get me the fuck out of here before I go fix it’s flat ass.”
Bad smiles over his shoulder at him before finding the rip he’s looking for. “If it makes you feel any better, it crumbled like a billion-trillion years ago. That’s what you get for building with dirt. The feet may still be around though, those were stone right?”
“That’s actually embarrassing, ugh.”
“You’re ready then?” Bad asks, aiming his scythe for a clean swipe.
“As I’ll ever be, buddy.”
Bad arcs his scythe through the air, slicing the world in half. He is met with no resistance, the fabric of reality is ready to fall apart at the lightest touch.
There is a void beyond the cut, like there always is, and he can feel it calling both of them, to guide them to the next world.
Foolish steps next to him, inspecting his work. They’ve never left at the same time, maybe he travels a different way. He pokes at the cusp of the world and the void before wiping his fingers on his pants. “So, we just step through?”
It feels anticlimactic, almost an insult to leave the island with so little fanfare, but that is the way of the end of the world. There was no one and nothing left to impress.
“More or less. We’ll follow the path. And end up where we end up. Philza told me something about seeing people again.”
“Oh spare me his cryptic meta stuff.”
Bad nods. He personally likes the cryptic meta stuff, even when it makes no sense to him, but to each their own.
They look at the portal but continue to linger at the exit. Foolish opens his mouth to say something, but closes it, and Bad waits.
“Hey Bad?” he finally asks.
“Yeah Foolish?”
“Don’t… don’t let me forget, ok? I want to keep this, I don’t want to forget.”
“I promise, Foolish.” Bad assures him. He offers his hand, “Not getting lost on the path is the most important thing. If you stick with me I can-”
Foolish takes his hand again, as he always will. He doesn’t roll his eyes or complain or make it a joke. He looks at the dragon one more time before turning and meeting Bad’s eyes. He squeezes his hand.
“Alright.”
“Alright.”
And they say goodbye to Quesadilla Island.
And they step through the doorway together.